The Weird and Wonderful World of a Guy Named Matt
by Rainbow Fruit Loop
Summary: "Yeah, this is me. Matt. Writing a diary, filled with comedy, awkwardness, and total stupidity. It's my thoughts on absolutely everything. Life, love, Mello, and macaroni cheese. You definitely don't want to miss it." Not to be taken seriously.
1. January

Disclaimer: As much as I really,_ really_ want to, I don't own Death Note. Do you feel my pain? All credit goes to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.

Author's note: Yes, yes, I _know _I shouldn't be starting another multi-chapter fic, but I got this idea, and then it started to eat my brain, so I _had_ to write it down. I don't think I'm normal.  
>I've rated this fic 'T' purely because of the language used. I'm also thinking that there might be some hints of MattMello in here, just because. (:  
>Also, I <em>know <em>the title is naff, but, really, it's a diary. Written by Matt. It's not gonna be deep and profound.  
>But I hope that this will amuse someone somewhere. I also have the next chapter typed up, because I'm incredibly awesome like that. Please review~ I love reviews.<p>

Also, I'd like to give a HUGE thanks to the insanely AWESOME Trey.R, who translated this fic into Russian! That's so cool! (: PM if you'd like the link.  
>Update 4th July 2014: This fic is now being translated into French, thanks to the absolutely amazing<em> Jilano <em>and _Caela-chan_! Head on over to Jilano's fanfiction page if you want to read this in French instead! (:

~Rainbow Fruit Loop.

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t  
><em><strong>Chapter One<strong>_

_**January 2nd 2006.**_

How in God's name do I start this fucking thing?

'Dear Diary'…? No, that makes me sound like a silly, whimpering girl with friend-issues. Hm.

'Hey, Diary!'…? No, that makes me sound like I'm _excited _to do this stupid project. And I'm not. Because it's stupid.

No greeting at all? A casual greeting? A note telling anyone who wants to read this to piss off? A nice, polite greeting to Roger?

Ah, I don't know. I haven't even really started yet, and I'm already confused. I think diaries are over-rated.

Well whatever. Yeah, this is me. Matt. Writing a diary. Although I think that I prefer the word 'journal'. But it's hard to believe, I know. Roger thought that giving all of us Wammy's kids a diary would help us to become… wait, what were his words?

I'll just ask Mello.

Oh, yes. Good thing Mello's memory isn't as dodgy as mine. Anyways, Rogers words were: "These diaries will help you to express your feelings." (It was really funny, though, 'cause Roger looked pointedly at Near when he said that. Emotionless bastard. It made Mello and I snigger.) "They will help you to tell the truth, and you will eventually trust your diary with your biggest secrets."

But then, the really creepy part of this 'assignment' is that he wants to read our diaries every few months to "make sure that we're sticking to it." Which, of course, most of us won't be. But I mean; what the fuck? Mello and I have this theory that Roger's actually a paedophile, which is why he works with a whole bunch of child geniuses. Genii? What's the plural for genius? Anyways, Roger tries to hide his paedophilia by saying that he hates kids… What. A. Loser.

Anyways, I've written _way _too much for one day. My arm's starting to ache. I don't think I've ever done so much writing in my life before. I'm in _agony._

And I don't want to look like I'm _keen _for this assignment_, _or something stupid like that.

Because I'm not.

Really.

_**January 6th 2006.**_

Well, I wasn't going to write anymore, because I still hate writing in this journal, but I think that I should make an effort.

…Actually, that's a lie. Near's been writing almost _essays_ in his, and Mello got all sulky and bitchy, just because it shows how much better Near is than him. Or something. And then Mello told me to write _his_ for _him;_ he doesn't think writing a diary is 'manly' enough for him. But I told him that I was too busy writing mine, so I couldn't do his. So, yeah.

Well, while I'm here, I may as well give you some information about me. It's enchantingly exciting, I swear.

**Name: **Matt. Or, rather, Mail Jeevas. Now that I've written my actual name, I have to hope that no one reads this, or else I might die somehow. Like, maybe in the future, there'll be this psychopathic mass murderer who can kill by simply knowing someone's name. But, then again, that does seem just a _tad _unlikely.

**Sex: **Yes, please. LOL. Are we allowed to use text speak in these diaries? I hope so. If not, then Roger's gonna murder me. LMAO. Surprises, surprises. But, no. My _gender_ is what I believe you want. Wait for it… Wait for it… The suspense… Ooh, the suspense… I'm a guy. Could you tell? If so, then well done! Your deduction skills are fantastic. Your IQ must be high. But if not, then… yeah. You're obviously not a regular here at Wammy's.

**Age: **Almost**, **_almost__ s_ixteen. I'm almost legal for… a whole bunch of stuff. Lucky me. I wonder what I'll get for my birthday? I hope that someone will remember. Unlike last year…

**Birth date: **February first. Yup. That makes me one of the oldest kids at Wammy's. Yay for me. Life's good. And sarcasm's even better.

**Favourite food: **Pizza. Mello would kill me for not saying chocolate. He's such a controlling bitch like that. Not that I'd tell him that, though, because I like my facial features where they are.

**Favourite colour: **Ice blue. Not like Mello's eyes, though, because that would be weird. And creepy. And stalkery. And just a little bit gay.

**Current location: **Under my duvet, on my bed, in Mello and I's shared room, in Wammy's House, in Winchester, in England, in the world, in the universe- you get the point, right? I'm not on Mars. Just remember that, and you'll be able to locate me. Eventually.

**Desired Future Occupation: **_Not _being 'the new L'. Because I'm a rebel like that. Alright. Back to the question asked. Does 'Professional Gamer' count as an occupation? Wow, imagine that. Getting paid to play video games all day. I'd be sitting on my arse (one of my hobbies), eating potato chips (ready salted flavour), drinking vanilla coke (my new favourite), playing games and GETTING PAID THOUSANDS. How awesome! Woooooow. I'm all excited now, and I don't even think that such a career exists. If I had to choose an _actual _career, though, I'd probably choose to be a professional hacker. Because I'm legal like that.

**Best friend: **Mello. Don't ask; even _I _have no idea why. But I guess there's _something _about that crazy bastard that makes me want to keep him around. I feel so proud, though, because I know his real name. No one else does. Don't think that I'm going to tell you, though. Cheeky.

**Sexual Orientation: **At this point in time, I have _no _idea. I'm starting to think that maybe I'm asexual. I guess it _would_ make things easier in the future, with, you know, people. I'm not really a people person. Hm…  
>Ew, no! I've just had a <em>very <em>disturbing thought. _Near_ is asexual. _Near. _Argh! I don't want to be asexual with Near!

I'm all hysterical now, so I think that I had better stop. See what this diary writing does to me?

_**January 13th 2006.**_

I'm back. Cue extravagant party celebrations and brightly coloured confetti. Although, really, I don't know what to say. Nothing exciting ever happens here at Wammy's.

Oh, no wait. I tell a lie. Something _did _happen today. Something extraordinary.

Ready for it? It's highly exciting.

We were given the choice of scrambled eggs, bagels OR pancakes for breakfast. Woah there, calm your excitement. We don't want things getting out of hand here. But, really. Three breakfast options? Do they WANT us to get obese? Then again, they probably weren't expecting us to eat _all_ of the options.

Or, in Mello's case, four portions of each option.

How does he not get fat?

_**January 19th 2006.**_

Gosh, Mello's such a rebel. He almost got kicked out of Wammy's. Again.

Do you want to know why? No? I'll tell you anyway.

He was 'bored', so he sneaked into the kitchen and replaced all of the salt in the salt shakers with washing powder. _Washing powder. _As in, the white, powdery stuff that you put in with your washing. I'm only saying this in case you thought that 'washing powder' was the new street lingo for crack. It's not, by the way, and never will be, because that's naff.

But, really. Washing powder. It's not _that _bad, right?

Wrong. It all went horribly wrong when some random small kid had an allergic reaction to - what we thought was - his macaroni cheese. Oh, how wrong we were.

Macaroni cheese. We're _always_ being served it. Probably because that's all the cooks know how to make. But I don't really like the stuff. It's all stringy, and cheesy, and it smells like vomit. Mello loves the stuff, but, then again, he's weird.

Anyways, I do have to say, though, even _Mello _was quite remorseful when we saw the kid getting rushed to the hospital in critical, near-death condition.

Mello's defence, however, was "It's his fault for being allergic to fucking _washing_ _powder _of all things".

I quite agree.

_**January 24th 2006.**_

You know, now that I think about it, my life is actually quite interesting. I think that someone famous should come and make a documentary about us Wammy's kids. It'd have _loads _of viewers. We genii (yes, I've decided on 'genii' as the plural for genius) are very fascinating and entertaining people. And by 'we genii' I actually mean Mello and I.

Today Mello and I decided to start laughing and pointing whenever we saw Near's nose. No, not Near himself, but his _nose_. It sounds simple, but it was fucking _hilarious. _Every time he came up to us, we'd both stare at his nose and snigger.

It's amusing, though, because word soon got around, and soon everyone at Wammy's was laughing and pointing at Near's surprisingly small nose.

I think I died from laughing too hard. I know it's immature of me, but who really cares?

Near's now paranoid that there's something on his nose.

To say he's such a genius, he really doesn't understand a joke.

It really is great fun tormenting Near, as horrible as it sounds. I suggest that, if you're ever stuck in the same room as Near, and can't escape, torment him. It's more fun than it sounds, really.

_**January 29th 2006.**_

Not much happened today, but I thought I'd update my diary. Er, I mean journal. Journal. _Journal. _

I'm excited for my birthday, you know. It's in a few days, and I'm _really _hoping that Mello will remember. The bitch owes me a birthday present.

To make it easier for him, I've been leaving around helpful hints. Ranging from the oh-so-subtle to the not-so-subtle. That is, I've been leaving notes saying, "Not long now!" and "I'd really love this game for February the first" and, "Mels, if you fucking forget my birthday again – IT'S FEBRUARY THE FIRST – then I will eat you. And I know how against cannibalism you are."

You know. Helpful, polite hints like that.


	2. February

Author's note: Wow! I must say, I'm surprised by the amount of people who reviewed/faved/alerted this! Thanks so much! You guys are so cool (: So I decided to update now for you~!

If you read it, please review this chapter! x

~Rainbow Fruit Loop.

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
><strong>**_Chapter Two.  
><em>**

_**February 1st 2006.**_

Mello forgot my fucking birthday. The bitch. And after I left all of those caring, thoughtful notes for him too.

But, really. Why am I not surprised?

He's lucky that I didn't eat him.

Oh well. At least _one _person remembered. Unfortunately that one person was Near – _Near _of all people – but I've decided to use Near's… erm, _thoughtfulness _to my advantage.

I had hoped that I could guilt Mello into getting me something.

My conversation with Mello went something along the lines of:

Me: "At least _Near _remembered. You know, I'm starting to think that maybe _Near _would be a better friend than you. You always forget about me, Mels! It hurts so much! I thought we were best friends! I guess I was wrong!" And then I wailed dramatically for a bit.

Mello: "Shut the fuck up, Matt. I'll buy you chocolate later, if only you leave me alone."

Me: "Mello, chocolate doesn't fix everything! I want _more _than just chocolate! I want a well-thought out gift of great expense!"

And which point Mello made a noise that sounded rather like a growl, and then said: "Fine! I'll buy you something extraordinary tomorrow! Jesus!"

Me: "…Can I have the chocolate too?"

I think Mello burst a vein.

It went better than planned, actually.

So now, as I'm writing, I'm munching on a bar of Hershey's milk chocolate. I wanted the Cookies 'n' Cream flavour, but Mello said no.

Bitch.

But, apart from the whole Mello-fiasco, I think my birthday went well. I managed to convince the cooks to make me a cake with sixteen candles and raspberry and white chocolate icing. Unfortunately, though, I dropped the cake on my way up to Mello and I's room, but it was the thought that counted.

Also, I didn't get a car from Roger (stingy bastard), which is what I really wanted. Isn't it common knowledge that you buy sixteen year olds nice, red cars for their birthdays?

Apparently not.

_**February 4th 2006.**_

I narrowly escaped being murdered today. It was awkward, I'll say that much.

And all because I _accidentally _(lies, it was totally on purpose) scorched Mello's new hot pink skinny jeans.

…No confusion about _his _sexual orientation then.

But, really. Hot pink skinny jeans? Why? It's actually embarrassing.

And I always thought that Mello only ever wore black. Guess I was wrong. Or maybe pink is just the new black. It really wouldn't surprise me.

I must remember to ask Mello about his jeans.

Back on topic, though, I'm not quite sure how Mello thought he'd murder me with a half-eaten apple, a plastic teaspoon and a large Spanish dictionary.

There are just some things that you don't want to know about what goes on inside Mello's head.

In fact, I'd stay out of Mello's head _completely _if I were you.

Also, good luck with trying to get the image of Mello wearing very, _very _snug hot pink jeans out of your head. It's impossible; trust me. I've tried.

_**February 7th 2006.**_

Mello still hasn't bought me that birthday present he promised. It's really disappointing. I may be forced to steal his money and buy something myself.

But, on the plus side, I managed to remember to ask him about his hot pink skinny jeans. He bought some more - with my money, unfortunately - after the 'burning incident', so I haven't escaped the embarrassment of walking around with a hot-pink clad male.

I didn't really get an answer to my question, though, because all Mello said was, "I look fucking hot in pink, Matt, and you know it." Then he shook his hips slowly in some sort of weird, seductive dance thing, and that was the end of that.

But I'm avoiding Mello for the time being, because the monthly scores have just been posted, and, as usual, he's second.

You'd think that he'd be used to it by now, but he's not. He still goes around and murders anyone who irritates him. And all you have to do is _breath _to irritate Mello when he's on his man-period. So, being murdered is almost inevitable during the first week of every month.

'Murder' seems to be a reoccurring theme with Mello.

_**February 14th 2006.**_

Valentines Day is one of those strange, strange days which you either love or hate, depending on what you're given.

I was happy this year, which was a first for me.

I, of course, bought Mello a crap-load of chocolate, because I'm one of those irreplaceable, goddamn awesome best friends. Also, I think that Mello's running low on chocolate, and the day that Mello runs out of chocolate is the last day that I see the light, if you get what I mean.

I was quite surprised today, though, when Mello tossed me a pack of chocolate cigarettes. His speech to follow went something along the lines of: "Chocolate is a shit load better than those stupid cigarettes you smoke. You're gonna end up dying because of them one day. So I thought I'd save your life by giving you chocolate. Because I'm fabulous like that."

I then teased him by telling him that his superb speech was very romantic, and that I loved him very much too. I then proceeded to kiss the end of his nose, just because.

The tips of his ears went bright red, and I almost choked on my laughter.

So, all in all, a very good day.

_**February 19th 2006. **_

I bumped into Near this morning - oh, God, the terror - , and he asked me what my opinion on Robert Pattinson's beard was. Did I think that it suited him and made him look attractive, or did I think that it made him look like a hobo?

…Who the hell has any strong views on Robert fucking Pattinson's beard?

But I told him that I thought Robert's facial hair was absolutely stunning, and that I admired his ability to pull it off.

I was being sarcastic, of course. But I'm not sure that Near understands sarcasm, because he walked off looking thoughtful.

What the fuck happened?

Please, _please _somebody tell me that Near's not going to grow a beard. I don't think I could stand that.

_**February 25th 2006.**_

Mello and I got talking about our journals today. I'm not sure how we got onto the topic of diaries, because we were originally talking about how poodles should be made illegal in Britain.

But anyways. Mello let me have a look at his diary, and its lines are filled with "I hate Near. I hate Near. I hate Near. I hate Near.", in Mello's surprisingly girly handwriting. It's like a mantra or something.

I went to tell him that his diary is supposed to be filled with his thoughts, feelings and experiences, but stopped, because the phrase "I hate Near" _is _Mello's thoughts, feelings and experiences.

It's_ also _the phrase I hear him murmuring in his sleep. That and 'Give me more; I need more!"

…Hm, yeah, not sure what to think about that one. I really hope that he's talking about chocolate.

Back on topic. I have this inkling that Mello doesn't like Near. It's just a suspicion, but can you see where I'm coming from? The correct answer is yes.

And, I asked Mello what he called his diary. He looked at me blankly, so I told him that I called mine, "The Weird and Wonderful World of a Guy Named Matt". Clever, yes? Because my life is both weird and wonderful, you see? Also, just in case you were confused, _I'm _Matt.

Good. Glad we cleared that up.

Mello then looked at me like I'd grown another head, before finally telling me that he'd named his journal 'Gus.'

_Gus._

Enough said.

_**February 28th 2006.**_

Goodbye, February, nice knowing you. May March be as much of a complete waste of space as you were.


	3. March

Author's note: Hey guys! Thanks for all of your absolutely lovely reviews~ I decided to post this _now _just because of you (: Oh, also, to "can't-reach-beer" - Yes! Mello's cofession is totally going to be cannon in my head (: Maybe I'll have to stick it in this fic somewhere... if you don't mind, of course (:

Please continue to review~! Signed pictures of Mello in his infamous pink jeans for anyone who does XP

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
><strong>**_Chapter Three.  
><em>**

_**March 2nd 2006.**_

The start of March was as crap as the start of any other month. Roger decided to read our diaries, and was deeply unimpressed with the amount of swearing in mine.

Really. Which sixteen year old boy _doesn't _fucking swear?

…LOL.

But he didn't comment on my whine about him not buying me a car for my birthday. I was rather hoping that he'd say something along the lines of, "Ooh, good Lord, I didn't realise that I'd forgotten to buy you a car for your birthday, Matt! Let me pop out and buy you one right now! Spiffing! Smashing! Tea and crumpets! Good day, chap!" But he didn't, because he's evil like that.

And, I _know _that that's not how Roger speaks, but life's more fun when you make boring, paedophilic men more naff than usual.

But, I do have to say, if Roger was unimpressed with _my _journal, then he was in for a shock when he read Mello's. I mean, Mello's, after all, consists of three words repeated over and over and over (and over) again: "I hate Near."

I am sensing no creativity in Mello's diary.

_**March 6th 2006.**_

I walked into Mello and I's shared room today to find an adorable baby bunny rabbit with a large purple ribbon around its neck. It was sitting on the carpet looking stunned.

My first thought was, "I hope it doesn't crap on the carpet."

My second thought, which probably should have been my first, was, "What the fuck is a rabbit doing here?"

But then Mello pranced out of the small en-suite bathroom (yeah, we go all out here at Wammy's) with a grin on his face and another bunny in his arms.

He said - well, he yelled - "Happy birthday, Matty!" He then proceeded to thrust both rabbits into my arms, where I promptly dropped one onto the carpet on its head due to my surprise.

I hope it doesn't damage it somehow.

Brain-dead bunny rabbits are overrated.

But, I guess I did get a present. Two of them, in fact. Even if they were just the teeniest, tiniest bit late.

But I didn't want to ask Mello where he got the rabbits from. Probably somewhere not-legal.

_**March 7th 2006.**_

Surprisingly, the rabbits aren't dead yet. Mello hasn't gotten annoyed and thrown them out of the window yet, so all is good in the world. The only _slight _problem is that Mello kind of, sort of, possibly forgot to mention our smuggled rabbits to Roger.

Oh well. He doesn't need to know everything. I think he's allergic, anyways.

According to Mello, one rabbit is his, and the other is mine. I, of course, chose the cutest one, because I'm epic like that. My bunny is light brown with a darker brown patch over its left eye. It's also the one I dropped on its head, so I think that it's a bit dopey.

But oh well. I'm not going to judge it for any mental-retardation it may or may not have acquired due to something which may or may not have been my fault.

Mello's rabbit is dark black with a streak of white up its nose, and has anger issues. No jokes. It's already torn up three different half-finished assessments of mine, (I'm not bothered, though, because I wasn't going to hand them in anyways) and had a good chew on Mello's black ugg boots.

So the bunny's personality matches Mello's personality well. They can both go and be angry in a corner somewhere.

Sadly, though, it took three agonizing, intense hours for Mello and I to finally decide on names for them.

Mine's called Pickles and Mello's is called Bruce.

Hardcore, I know.

_**March 14th 2006.**_

Mello had a complete angst-feast today because his hair wouldn't go straight. It was actually hilarious, though, because bits of it were sticking up at funny angles.

He looked like he had gone through a hedge backwards, had a 'disagreement' with the cow on the other side of the hedge about the quality of chocolate milk (I've tried telling Mello that chocolate milk doesn't actually come from cows, but he ignores me), and then been hit by three different bolts of lighting.

Yeah. Just a bit of a bad hair day.

Anyways, it really is hard living with someone as high-maintenance as Mello. He gets all funny if – wait, there's a list –

**a)** His hair's not in its 'perfect, straight, blonde style'. He sometimes has to resort to using straighteners and blow dryers, but it didn't work today. Heh…

**b)** He gets a spot on his – and I quote – "fabulously perfect skin". I do have to say, though, he's got the type of skin that most girls would kill for. It does always seem to be flawless – even when he's in anguish about his "many, many spots". Drama queen.

**c)** His fingernails get dirty. Maybe he should stop scrabbling around in the dirt outside our window to find the four-months-supply of chocolate he buried in case of "desperate times", then, hm?

**d)** His black nail polish chips. Men shouldn't wear nail polish in my opinion. Then again… Mello will be Mello.

or, **e)** If his gender is mistaken. I do have to say, though, this one _is _perfectly reasonable. And it does seem to happen a lot… Well. Those pink jeans aren't going to be helping him, are they?

But anyways. Back to "The Crisis". I tried telling him that he was as gorgeous as always, but he told me to "shut the fuck up and do something helpful."

So I did.

I Googled "How to get over PMS" for him, and then subtly left it on the computer screen, hoping that he'd notice it, read it, and take the advice in an attempt to stop being so pissy all the time.

Sadly, though, even though Mello _did _notice the helpful website, he took it the wrong way.

So I've just had a one and a half hour session with "Psychiatrist Mello" answering stupid questions like 'How does having PMS make _you _feel?', 'Can you remember the first time _you_ experienced the symptoms of PMS?' and 'Do you think _you_ can get over this issue?' You know. Crap like that.

The sad thing is, though, I think he was actually serious.

That's _the last time _that I try to help Mello out.

Ever.

_**March 19th 2006.**_

I walked into Mello and I's room today to find Mello curled up on the couch with Bruce, a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket, and my diary. He was having _major _hysterics – probably scaring poor, poor, angry Bruce in the process.

I mean, WTF? That's totally abusing my privacy! Mello is so rude. Bitch.

I said to him – in a completely shocked voice -, "Mello, are… are you reading my diary?"

I thought I'd give him a chance to deny it. Because, then when he said "no", I could have whipped out my amazing logic and pointed out that he was, in fact, reading my diary.

But he said, "Yes."

Yeah, good, great. He doesn't even _try _to hide the fact that he's an interfering bastard.

So then I said, "But that's totally abusing my privacy!"

And he said, "Don't leave it lying around in your sock drawer, then. Anyways, your issues are fun to read."

There are _so_ many things wrong with that 'explanation'.

One: Why the hell was he snooping around in my sock drawer? That's insanely creepy! And, anyways. It wasn't "lying around" in my sock drawer. It was minding its own business, busy being smothered by my new bright green socks. Does Mello have an issue with socks or something? Sockist.

Two: They're all his issues, not mine. I don't _have _issues… much…

Three: Issues shouldn't be fun to read! How many people have 'fun' reading Anne Frank's diary? If you just thought "me!" to yourself, then you are a sick, sick person. She _died. _Death is not fun. Unless, of course, you happened to die on a rollercoaster or something. That might be fun.

Anyways. Back to the main point of this diary entry (I have a tendency to veer off topic. Had you noticed?): I've had to have hidden my diary in a _very _secret place.

And, no, it's not under my mattress. I'm not _that_ stupid.

_**March 25th 2006.**_

Thank God. Finally found my diary. I am _such_ a brilliant hider-of-diaries, that I lost it for a bit. But then, after I'd trashed the bedroom for a while, I found it.

It was behind the photo on the wall of L, Mello, Near and I, obviously. Brilliant hiding place, right? Mello the Sockist will never find it.

Although, now that I look at the picture more closely, there's something wrong with Near.

He's wearing black glasses, got a mustache, and the words "I'm an arse" are written in a large speech bubble above his head.

…Damn it, what did I tell Mello about ruining group photos of us by butchering Near's image?

Now, wait here. I'm going to go and look at all of the other pictures of Near we have. (By the way, I know that sounded stalkery, but it's not. I swear.)

…

Oh, for fuck's sake. Every _single _photo that we have of Near has been inconspicuously doodled on. He's got one of those weird French mustaches in all of them.

Although, I must say, the picture where he's 'wearing' that large purple hat with the peacock feather in it _is _pretty stunning.

But I should never, _ever_ have given Mello that twelve-pack of brightly coloured permanent markers for his birthday.

I should have _known _it would end in some sort of disaster.

_**March 31st 2006.**_

Ah, March has been quite a good month, really. Apart from the parts where Mello was involved. I'm still annoyed at him for reading my diary/doodling on our photos/breathing, but I don't think he's noticed that I'm giving him the cold shoulder.

On the bright side, though, Pickles and Bruce are still teeny tiny, and completely and utterly adorable.

Now, to anyone (who is actually deluded) who is now thinking, "Aw. Matt's world is all rainbows, fluffy bunny rabbits, sparkles and chocolate,": You're wrong.

…We never get rainbows down here.


	4. April

Author's note: Hello, readers! How is everyone? (: Well, first off; if you haven't heard of the song 'Caramelldansen' then you actually have to Youtube it before you read this chapter. Otherwise... yeah. Things won't be as funny. But make sure that you watch the dance! In fact, just type "Caramelldansen Death Note Matt and Mello" into the search box :P  
>Also, for some totally bizarre reason, I <em>love <em>the idea that Matt's smarter then both Near and Mello; he's just too lazy and too unmotivated to do anything about it (:  
>Now, I'd like to thank my absolutely brilliant reviewers~! I actually love you guys in a totally non-creepy way. (: Please continue to do so~<p>

~Rainbow Fruit Loop.

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
><strong>**_Chapter Four~_**

**_April 1_****_st_****_ 2006. _**

Merry April Fools Day, everyone. It's such a lovely day here at Wammy's, filled with buckets of water, jelly, frogs and inconveniently-placed alarm clocks. Yay.

Well, for the first time in the history of the world, Mello and I decided _not _to prank each other this year.

Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.

So, I woke up twenty minutes earlier than usual, snuck into the en-suite bathroom, and then, after slipping on the tiled floor for no particular reason, managed to put semi-permanent fuchsia hair dye into Mello's extra special smooth and shiny, high-volume, high-nutrition, strawberry and cherry scented shampoo (or something. I swear I haven't memorized its name. I'm not that desperate…).

Now, you may not have deduced this, but Mello's not really a morning person. Surprises unbound. He actually wakes up _scowling_. Not a good way to start the day, in my opinion. So, when he stumbled groggily into the shower to wash his hair, he didn't even look at the shampoo as he massaged it into his scalp.

_Big_ _mistake_ on April Fools Day.

You cannot _imagine_ my laughter when Mello stepped out of the shower with bright fuchsia hair and his hot pink skinny jeans (I swear he hasn't taken them off. I think it's because he knows that me being with him when he's wearing them makes me squirm). He looked like a really warped Care Bear. Well, he _would _have looked like a really warped Care Bear if he hadn't been looking so murderous.

So I said to him, "Mels, honey, cute, cuddly Care Bears aren't supposed to look like they want to strangle something to death with a shoelace. You're supposed to be all cute and cuddly-looking!"

At which point he punched me in the jaw, and demanded that I tell him how long the dye would last.

Saying that he wasn't too pleased with the answer (which was four weeks, for your information) is a bit of an understatement…

But then, the day took a turn for worse. I hadn't looked in the mirror before we left for breakfast, you see. And people kept giving me weird looks. Like, the kind of look you'd give if you saw a piglet trotting down the street with a hippo on its back. Yeah. That kind of look. I'm quite familiar with it, actually. But that doesn't mean that I wasn't automatically suspicious.

Finally, though, after three hours of getting laughed at, I was able to glance in the mirror.

I'm not quite sure when, but Mello had written the words "I am Mello's bitch, and I like it." on my forehead in those permanent markers of his.

Fuck. My. Life.

_**April 5th 2006.**_

Today was a much better day than April Fools. For me, at least.

For some bizarre reason, Roger decided that it would be beneficial for all of us Wammy's kids to take an IQ test. Just to make sure that no one with mental retardation had somehow slipped under the radar, I presume.

After three grueling hours, everyone was done, and Roger posted the scores next to the monthly scores. (Mello's still second in those. I'm afraid of being castrated.)

And guess what? I officially have the highest IQ here at Wammy's. I'm a fucking genius, baby. Don't ask me how it happened, though.

Near just kind of looked at me blankly, and said "Well done". Mello, on the other hand, punched the wall, screamed, went and re-did his IQ test, forced me to re-do mine, and then had a complete and utter spaz at me when he realized that I was still smarter than him. (He's still got pink hair, so I couldn't take his depressed whining seriously.)

At the moment, he's cradling Bruce – who is looking equally as grumpy - and complaining about how much his life sucks. I don't know who he thinks is listening, though, because I'm too busy trying to beat chapter eleven in Final Fantasy XII. (It's new out, and I'm _very _excited.)

But I think Mello's in denial about the IQ shenanigan, because he keeps yelling "It can't be truuuueee!" at odd moments.

Oh well, I got away mostly unscathed, so all is good-

Shit! Mello's just snapped my DS (which was casually lying on the coffee table NOT BEING IN ANYONE'S WAY) in half. Noooo! It can't be truuuueee!

Jealous bitch.

_**April 11th 2006.**_

Mello is totally sexy, and is the most fucking gorgeous thing to ever walk the planet. When he walks past me in those impossible hot jeans of his, I can't help but to stare at his ass. He's so fucking gorgeous that he should be illegal. He's totally smarter than me, and I should be kissing the ground that he walks on. I want to make out with him until my lips turn black and blue, because I think I've fallen in love with him-

Oh, for God's sake! How the fuck did Mello find my super-secret hiding place? He's such an immature jerk. Right now, he's making stupid smoochy faces at me WHEN I DIDN'T FUCKING WRITE ANYTHING. He's such an arse. Fuck… he makes me angry. And being angry is _not_ the same as being horny, so don't get your hopes up.

Now, I guess that everything is really awkward. Just for clarities sake: That wasn't me writing those things. I swear on my mother's grave…. No, wait, I don't know who my mother is, so I probably wouldn't care if she kicked the bucket. Hey, don't look at me with those cruel, judgmental eyes; being insensitive and uncaring is something that came about from being friends with Mello. Jerk.

But, anyways, I don't know why Mello thinks that everyone's madly in love with him, because they're actually not. He's not that great.

In fact, I should make a huge-ass list about why he's not actually that great. Right.

**a) **Hmm…Um… Hm. Annoyingly enough, this is actually harder than I thought. Because – as much as I want to - I can't fault him on his anger, because sometimes I find myself thinking that his anger is strangely sexy.

Oh, God. Please, somebody tell me that I did _not_ just admit that to myself.

Because Mello is definitely, completely, utterly _not_ sexy.

_**April 17th 2006.**_

You know how many times I walk into Mello and I's shared room to find Mello doing something completely stupid? Too many, that's for sure.

Well, today I walked into the room to find Mello with a paintbrush, a tub of black paint, and Bruce.

He was focusing intently on painting the strip of white on Bruce's face black.

Because I'm a great believer in preventing animal cruelty, I screamed:

"What the fuck are you doing to Bruce? You're a monster, Mello! That's animal cruelty!"

He looked at me blankly and said: "I'm painting him, Matty."

Ah. Right. Thanks for the explanation, Mello.

But then he told me that the paint he was using was special "animal paint" – which loser thought that creating a shitty product called "Animal Paint" would be a good idea? – because he didn't actually want to kill Bruce.

So then I asked him why he was using his artistic talents (I lied to prevent being beaten up) to paint Bruce, and he said:

"Because I hate white."

Mello officially has issues.

_**April 23rd 2006.**_

Mello's been in a bit of a bad mood for a few days, so I thought I'd try to cheer him up. LIES. I just wanted to get back at him for stealing my journal and "confessing" about my burning passion for him.

Which is so not true, by the way.

Anyways, I stole his laptop and his iPod, and, through the use of my superb hacking skills, managed to get access to his iTunes account.

God, he listens to depressing music. It's all _really _loud, _really _screamo-y, and all about death, murder, abuse and fire.

I then "came to the conclusion" that the cause of his misery was his music (heh), so I swiftly deleted all nine-hundred and thirty five songs (total play time = fifty two hours, forty six minutes and three seconds. Mello must have a lot of spare time) off of his iPod. I then put on my absolute favourite song, and put his iPod on "repeat."

God, it was hilarious when Mello jammed his earphones in, turned the music up as high as it would go, and pushed "play".

I could hear the song "Caramelldansen" playing from where I was having hysterics on the sofa.

Ah, you should have seen his reaction. After a good forty seconds of stunned silence, he threw his iPod on the ground, and looked at me through wide, terrified eyes.

He said, "…M-Matty? What… the fuck was that…?"

Aw. He looked so completely horrified that I almost, _almost _went and gave him a little cuddle.

But I didn't, because I was having too much fun.

So I replied, "C'mon, Mels, it's "Caramelldansen!" It's genius! So much better than all of your crap! Do the dance!"

And I did the dance for him.

He then went from being all scared and cute (oh, for Fuck's sake. This is _not _happening again. He is _not _cute) to being violent and scary (there's the Mello I know and love).

Now, I'm nursing a sore face, and Mello's listening to his newly-acquired songs on full blast.

I can hear everything, so I'm feeling depressed.

Oh, wait, what's that? The song he's listening to at the moment is about murdering your best friend.

Lovely.

_**April 27th 2006.**_

Mello and I just spent three hours cleaning our room. And, before you get all confused and wonder who's taken over this diary, _no _we didn't do it because we're clean, tidy people; we did it because the entire room was covered in little pieces of sock.

Poor, dopey Pickles got a little bit confused, and somehow – I don't even want to know how – managed to mistake Mello's sock drawer for his litter tray (?), so, as a result, the entire room got covered in Mello's socks. And Mello has a lot of socks, unsurprisingly.

But that would have been fine, but then Bruce got involved.

Oh yes. Angry, angry Bruce who really does seem to have a grudge against the world (or, at least Mello and I) got involved. High drama, I tell you.

So, instead of having to pick up socks, we were forced to pick up at least a gazillion teeny-tiny pieces of "eighty percent cotton and twenty percent nylon."

And now I have to buy Mello more socks – with _my _money – because apparently "I looked at Bruce funny", which caused his bad mood.

It's a _rabbit._

FML.

I may buy Mello white, lacey socks so that he understands my disapproval of him in general.

_**April 30th 2006.**_

Mello's hair is finally back to its normal blonde colour. Though, I must say, I do miss seeing a flash of bright fuchsia every time I looked at Mello. He really suited pink.

Though, if he heard me saying that, I think he'd say something along the lines of, "Well, you suit black and blue," then 'things' would occur and I'd be bruised all over.

Having Mello as a best friend really is terrifying.

Maybe I should start fighting back.

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><p>Dun dun duuuun. When Matt fights back.<p> 


	5. May

Author's note: Hey guys!~ (: You know, for some totally bizarre reason, I love making Mello... um, not very manly. (: Overly gay Mello cracks me up (:  
>Does everyone know who Nigella Lawson is? If not; then she's basically this cook who LOVES sweet things. I'm sure all of her desert recipes would make someone's teeth fall out.<br>Anywho, thanks SO much for all of you reviews, guys! You totally inspire me to write faster! Also, to "CrazyClumsyCoco15"... No, I don't have a life (:  
>Please review~<p>

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Five~_**

**_May 2_****_nd_****_ 2006. _**

Wow. I've just discovered the wonders of Internet horoscopes. Seriously, those things are fucking genius. Even if they're not always strictly true.

…Do you think you could make a lot of money by making a dodgy website with fake horoscopes on it? Wow. I could make millions.

Okay. Adding "Dodgy Internet Horoscoper" (is that what they're called?) to my list of future occupations.

Anyways.

Mello's a Sagittarius, and his horoscope for this month is: "Sometimes it's best just to admit that you're sorry, and that you were wrong." (OMG. Mello… admitting that he _wasn't right? _Wow. That'll be the day.) "Confessing that you were wrong might just save your relationship or friendship." (What relationships does Mello have? In fact, what friendships does Mello have?) "Also, learn to love life for what it is - stop stressing over the small things - and be happy with what you have." (…Yeah, don't worry; be happy, Mello.)

I told Mello this wonderful piece of advice, and he, of course, threw something large and hard at me.

He doesn't believe in apologies, you see.

Or having friends.

Or being happy, really.

Anyways, I'm an Aquarius, and my horoscope was: "This month is going to be a bad month for you." (Really? I'm so surprised.) "You need to hold your ground, and don't give in to temptation." (Ooh, temptations? Where?) "One of your closest friends will make a mistake, and you have to forgive them." (If Mello's making a mistake, I'm not fucking forgiving that bitch.) "But don't worry; there is light at the end of the tunnel." (Or is it just the light of an oncoming train? Yes, I'm an optimistic person like that.)

So, I really can't wait for May. It sounds like a bundle of laughs and good times.

Welcome, May. Please bring chocolate brownies and raspberry-flavoured vodka.

_**May 7th 2006.**_

I fear for my life. I honestly do. Because Mello has just done something truly horrible. It's definitely the mistake the horoscope was talking about. And I'm not forgiving him. At all.

He really has outdone himself.

Do you want to know what he's done?

He's bought himself a gun. A real, actual, proper deadly gun. With bullets and everything.

Don't ask _where _he got it from, or _what _he paid for it with, or _how _he's going to keep it hidden from Roger, or even _why _he thinks he needs high protection here at Wammy's, but Mello officially has a gun.

I've already been held at gunpoint twice, and he's only had it for half an hour.

The first "being held at gun point" incident occurred because I told him his fringe was looking a bit wonky, and suggested that he attacked it with his straighteners. It was a genuinely helpful suggestion from a friend to a friend, but, nooooo, I was just being a jealous bitch, of course.

And the second incident occurred because I accidentally put three sugars (instead of two) in the coffee he demanded I make him, and he didn't agree with that. Did I _want _to make him fat? Did I _want_ to make him ugly? Did I _want _him to be alone forever? Because, oh, no, three sugars is just too much, and could I give him that bar of chocolate over there, please?

I think I want to cry. I'm so going to end up dead by the end of May.

_**May 12th 2006.**_

Near, Mello and I – the super genii here at Wammy's - had a surprise visit from L today. He came to talk to us about our grades, our strengths, our weaknesses and our futures as his possible successors.

…Gripping stuff, this. Highly exciting and such a wonderful opportunity, I know.

But, you see, there's just one tiny, _tiny _problem. I don't want to be L, so talking about my future with him is a COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME.

Ah well. I got out of double chemistry, so I guess all is good in the world.

It was hilarious, though, because, predictably, Mello went all girly and excited. He tried to deny it, of course, because he is tough, damnit, and he doesn't fucking squeal over _anyone; _not even L himself. Didn't I know this?

But this is the first thing he said to L. "Oh my gosh, L, it's so great to see you! I missed you so much! I'm glad you came back to me!" Insert drooling and manic beaming here. I don't think he let go of L's arm the entire visit.

But anyways.

According to L, Mello's weakness is his inability to control his emotions. Mello's now crying in the corner of the bedroom because L hurt his feelings. Ironic, huh? It's only a matter of time until he shoots something. Sucks to be him; getting dissed by his role model. Heh…

I, on the other hand, was showered with compliments and L's version of adoration (which, really, is a blank stare and a few nice words). L said that he has high hopes for me. He said that I was calm and composed, yet I was able to convey human emotions when needed. He also said that I was incredibly intelligent, kind, and thoughtful, and that my only shortcoming was my laziness.

He wants me to try harder, and to really apply myself to my school work.

…That sounds like a lot of unnecessary bother.

Also, on an almost unrelated note, Roger brought us all chocolate chip muffins _to share_. We didn't get to eat any of them, though, because L took the plate, grabbed one of the four forks, and ate every single muffin by himself within five minutes.

Him and Mello must be hiding some great secret of staying skinny whilst eating masses. Why don't I know this secret?

It's a conspiracy, I tell you.

_**May 18th 2006.**_

Long time no see. Did you miss me? …No? Fuck you then.

Anywho, today was a right bundle of laughs. Not.

Roger decided that Mello and I should join the "Food Technology" class, as to extend our skills and find out if we have any hidden talents.

Why? What is the point? How is knowing how to use an oven properly ever going to help us become the new L? Everyone knows he only eats things prepared by OTHER PEOPLE.

So I, of course, was deeply unimpressed by this new change in the timetable, but the scary thing was that Mello got all super-duper excited. Our conversation went something like this.

Mello: "Ooh, Matty, we get to bake things now! _Chocolate_ things! Isn't it great?"

Me: "No. It's gay."

Mello: "I have to make sure I wear a hair net, though, because I don't want to get flour or cocoa powder or gherkin juice in my hair."

Me: "I thought you were going to make chocolate things. Who the fuck puts _gherkin juice _in chocolate muffins?"

At which point he pointed his gun at me and told me that he could put whatever the fuck he liked into his chocolate muffins because it was none of my business, and that I should apologize to him before he shot me in the head and re-decorated the wall behind me in a nice shade of brain.

I need a new friend.

_**May 21st 2006.**_

Okay. Just because Roger _insisted_ that we should put _all_ of our secrets into our diaries, I am going to admit to something. You're not allowed to tell _anyone_, got it? Otherwise you will be met with a very unpleasant end, probably involving a paper shredder, a few dozen bees and a large glass of lemonade.

Baking Class is fucking awesome.

Mello and I waltzed into the class looking all glam in the really naff aprons Roger gave us, and then we were allowed to bake _whatever the hell we wanted._

Unsurprisingly, Mello made the most enormous chocolate cake I have ever seen in my entire _life_ – it was so chocolatey that even Nigella fucking Lawson would have had a spaz if she had seen it. He then added approximately a gazillion tons of chocolate icing to it, and voilá! A piece of food that made you want to throw up by simply looking at it.

He ate all of it within ten minutes.

I decided to make some sort of meaty-cheesy pizza thing, and I'm really proud because I only set the oven on fire twice, and the emergency sprinklers only went off _once. _But my pizza tasted nice (ish), so who really cares if a few people got just a little bit wet…?

The food tech teacher really is overly dramatic.

_**May 25th 2006.**_

Ah, I'm such a sadist. I was bored today; Mello was doing some "catch up work" – which consisted of an entire day (minus classes) of swotting and writing and reading and general boringness. This meant that I was left on my own with no one to annoy.

So I decided to play one of the games that I hadn't played in a while.

Did you know that on the game "Sims 2" you can hack into the game and make your Sims have phobias? No? Well, I guess it's true what they say then. You learn a new thing every day.

Anyways, I hacked into the game, and gave my male Sim (his name is Jason. Why?) a phobia of both the colour black and the dark.

I then gave the décor of his house an "update" – that is, I painted the walls black and gave him black carpet. I then removed all of the lights, waited for it to get dark, shoved him into the bedroom, and then hastily removed all of the doors.

Poor Jason had a complete breakdown.

I'm evil, I know.

Maybe Mello's rubbing off on me?

…Oh shit.

_**May 30th 2006.**_

Mello told me that he was gay today.

As if I hadn't noticed. What does he think I am? Blind? Stupid? Does he think that my gaydar is broken?

That's just fucking offensive.

But, really. Everyone knows that he "bats for the other team" (or whatever the expression is), so I don't know why he felt a need to make it 'official'.

Anyways, we were playing our weekly game of Twister (don't ask. I love the game Twister, and Mello and I have been playing it together for as long as I can remember) and we were in quite a 'cosy' position. But because both Mello and myself are highly competitive when it comes to this game, we weren't going to give up, no matter how… _intimate_ things ended up getting.

So, anyways, at this particular point in time, Mello was arched over me; his legs on either side of my thighs. Our hips were pressed firmly together, his arms rested on either side of my face, and our legs were entwined. I was doing this pretty complicated version of a bridge underneath him – a bridge that would have made a gymnast proud. Our noses were practically brushing, and his hair was falling all over my face.

Everything seemed strangely intimate, but I didn't really mind because Mello and I are close friends, and we'd been this… um, _snug_ on numerous occasions.

But then Mello suddenly said, "Hey, Matty, what would you do if I told you I was gay?" At which point I almost fell over in surprise, but, luckily, managed to keep my ground.

I think that he was trying to surprise me enough to make me fall over. And, if you think that Mello is above admitting his sexual orientation for the sole purpose of winning a game of Twister, then you, my friend, are sorely mistaken.

So, anyways, I raised my eyebrows at him, and said, "I'd say 'I understand, Mels, and, don't worry; this doesn't change anything about our relationship. You're still the Mello I know and love. Thank you for trusting me with your secret'."

So Mello said, "Alright then, Matty. I'm gay."

So I said, "You're _WHAT_? Oh my God, Mello, that's so fucking disgusting! Shit! Get the fuck off me, you homo!"

He fell on top of me in surprise.

After I had pushed him _violently _away from my body with a fake disgust, he looked up at me from his place on the floor with these miserable, bewildered eyes and said, "Matty? I thought you said you'd understand… Don't hate me, please… I don't think I could stand it…"

Aw. Vulnerable Mello is actually super cute.

So I said, "I won, fuckwad. Don't let your game down. This Twister competition is serious stuff."

And then I stood up, pulled him to his feet, and gave him a warm hug to let him know that I was only joking about being disgusted.

He then punched me _hard _in the stomach - which left me doubled over in pain - and said something about "getting me back next week, fucking douchebag."

Yeah, right.

The moral of this story? I always win at Twister.


	6. June

Author's note: Hey, readers! I can't believe that we're half way through the year in this diary. (: Haha. I wish my life was as eventful as Matt's. I tried to write a diary once, but got bored because NOTHING HAPPENS TO ME. Anyone else have that problem?  
>Thanks SO much for all of your lovely reviews~ Is it sad that getting a review makes my day...? Yes...? Haha.<p>

~Rainbow Fruit Loop.

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Six~_**

**_June 3_****_rd_****_ 2006._**

Great news. I didn't die during May like I predicted. Life is getting better.

But, is it really June already? Thank God for that. Almost half of the year is gone already. Then again, that means that the End of Year exams are just that little bit closer. I hate the exams they make us do at the end of the year. Not because I stress about them; I always pass with flying colours, but because _Mello _stresses. A lot. Can you imagine trying to be in the same room as a super-stressed, hormonal Mello?

Actually, no, don't imagine that. Try to save what's left of your mental sanity.

Oh well. No point in dwelling on the unavoidable.

Anyways, back on topic. I'm currently hiding in Mello and I's shared wardrobe, underneath some heavy coats, (I've got coat hangers and boots poking me in the back and it's fucking _uncomfortable_) because I fear for my life. No jokes.

I _may_ have accidentally shown a little bit too much of my genius, and _may _have unintentionally been ranked Number Two this month, pushing Mello down to Number Three.

Mello's reaction was strangely unsettling, though. All he did was nod _really _slowly, bite his lip, and then walk off with his hands clenched into fists.

Ah! Calm Mello is so much more scary than Angry Mello! I'm not sure whether to go up to him and give him a hug and say sorry, or to swan out of this wardrobe and be all "Yeah, bitch, I'm smarter than you, so if you want to stay at Number Two, be fucking nice to me", or to just act as normally as possible.

Wait, was that a shattering sound I just heard?

…I think I'll just stay in here.

_**June 7th 2006.**_

Life is _not_ getting better. I have a very upset/angry/hormonal Mello on my hands now. Great.

Just. Fucking. Great.

We had a substitute teacher in Food Technologies today, and she accidentally called Mello 'miss'. I know, big, _big _mistake. I think everyone in the class kind of froze, and turned to watch Mello with wide, fearful eyes - myself included. Everyone was expecting a complete and utter tantrum – and Mello certainly didn't disappoint.

As predicted, Mello had a ferocious spaz, involving loud outbursts of profanity, foot-stomping, screeching, more cursing, hitting things around him, shattering glass mixing bowls, and, finally, throwing half of his double-chocolate-fudge cookie mixture at her.

I don't think she'll be coming back for a while.

So, I've just had to gently tell Mello why he's often confused as being the wrong gender in between playing a game on my Xbox.

Here's what I said. "First of all, Mels, you've got long blonde hair." He glared at me, so I hastily added, "And it's so incredibly beautiful and shiny and soft, that people may get the wrong idea about your gender."

"Secondly, you've got quite a delicate face, Mels. I mean, your eyes are a striking blue (I was just throwing compliments around by this point as to avoid being decapitated) and your skin is flawless and smooth, and your lips are all pink and plump and smooth-looking," – at which point he narrowed his eyes at me and asked why the fuck I had been staring at his lips. I ignored his question. "so, of _course, _people are going to think that someone as gorgeous as you is female."

"Thirdly, you've got all of these curves, and, er, your hips are kinda… feminine. But they're totally hot, Mels, so don't punch me. And you've got such a slim waist and-"

At which point Mello sauntered up to me, bent down so that his lips were near my ear - his soft blonde hair brushing my cheek - and said, "Stop hitting on me, Matty. You can't have someone as hot as this."

I, understandably turned an incredibly attractive shade of tomato, and started babbling to Mello about how I _wasn't _hitting on him because I _didn't _roll that way (or do I? I'm still not sure), but he just held a finger to my lips, winked, and then strutted out of the room.

…

I'm sure I made a vow a few months back to _never _help Mello again. This is why.

_**June 11th 2006.**_

I woke up this morning with bright, fluorescent orange fingernails. Mello was obviously bored in the night. Yay. A bored Mello is a complete and utter horror; you have to run before he gets you. Dun dun duuun. Bored Mello is more destructive then Angry Mello, in actual fact.

Anyways, of course, I started yelling at him about how I _didn't _want to have painted nails because I'm not a pansy like him (Don't. Say. Anything.), and how he totally just ruined my image.

He just raised an eyebrow at me and said, "What's wrong with the colour orange, Matty? You've got orange goggles, after all."

Grr. Curse Mello and his stupidly stupid observation skills.

So then I grouched a bit more, and then went to get the nail polish remover, because there is _no way in hell _that I am _ever _going to walk around with my nails painted. That's just wrong.

…But, of course, the bitch had hidden the nail polish remover.

What I want to know, however, is why Mello owns orange nail polish. Orange is _not _a badass colour, no matter which way you look at it.

In fact, maybe I just _don't _want to know.

_**June 14th 2006.**_

Roger decided that today would be a great day to let all of us poor, unwanted orphans go to the movies as a "special break".

Why? _Why?_

But, anywho, we were allowed to choose one out of five movies to watch, and Roger supplied chocolatey snacks, which put Mello in a scarily good mood. I'm not kidding. He was doing all short of skipping.

Oh, no, wait, I tell a lie. He did skip once. And he looked exactly as you're imagining him.

Back on track. As you know, all of the orphans at Wammy's are geniuses, and, by using their superior intelligence, decided to watch the _normal_ movies. But, nooo, I'm best friends with Mello (and Mello's certainly not normal), and _he _wanted to watch "Paranormal Activity", so "Paranormal Activity" we watched.

Now, this is another one of my little secrets. Remember last time's threat for spilling the beans? Yeah, it still stands.

I. Don't. Do. Horror. Movies.

Fuuuuck, I'm so freaked out now. The ghosts are out to get me, I know it. I'm going to die. I don't want to die! I'm still so young! What have I done to the world? Why meeeee?

Ahem. Sorry about that. But I was actually shaking during the movie. Mello was having mega hysterics (WHY?), so he didn't notice me turning pale and hyperventilating, which I guess is a good thing, because I don't think Mello would have given me kind, comforting, loving words of support. No, he would have laughed at me and called me a wuss.

But, maybe it would have been better if I could have buried my face into Mello's shirt or something. Because Mello's chest would certainly have distracted me…

Oh, God, I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye. It's most definitely a ghost out to kill me and make a body suit out of my hot body. Shit, where's Mello when you need him?

Oh wait. He's sleeping.

Some friend he is.

_**June 19th 2006.**_

Nothing much happened today. I woke up, had a shower, had breakfast, and then watched Mello's _very _amusing morning routine.

**Firstly**: He woke up, and incoherently muttered the words, "Shit, it's another Goddamn fucking day. Whoop-de-freakin'-doo." Even though all I heard was a jumble of incorrect vowels and slurred syllables, I knew what he was saying because he says it _every day, _so I've memorized it. Also, I admit that watching Mello wake up _is _stalkery, but who really cares?

**Secondly**: He fell out of the bed and landed in a messy, groggy heap on the floor, and immediately went back to sleep. I had to throw a hairbrush at him to wake him up again. He threw it back. I have to buy a new mug.

**Thirdly**: He stumbled into the bathroom where he spent half an hour in the shower, twenty minutes getting dressed, and _forty _minutes on his hair. It's funny, though, because I can always hear him singing, and he _always _sings the same song; "Sex Bomb." But he changes the lyrics of the chorus from, "Sex bomb, sex bomb, you're my sex bomb" to "Sex bomb, sex bomb, I'm a sex bomb". Arrogant much? And definitely not true.

**Fourthly**: He waltzed out of the bathroom actually looking _awake_ - and as stunning as always. Because we only had thirty minutes until the bell rang for the start of period one, I tapped my metaphorical watch impatiently. Mello tapped his not-so-metaphorical gun, and smiled evilly. I hate my life.

**Fifthly**: Mello gave me my greeting punch in the arm, ate his usual chocolate bar, demanded that I made him a hot chocolate, and - as usual - I refused. We had our usual argument involving yelling, throwing large objects, swearing - and now gun pointing – and, as usual, I gave in and made him a hot chocolate. Bitch owes me. Always does.

**Sixthly: **Then there was the typical sudden rushed panic, because Mello hates being late for class. Because _Near_ is never late, so he shouldn't be either. But – in the space of five minutes – Mello managed to locate his cherry-flavoured chap stick, re-brush his hair, put his boots on, put his coat on, locate his millions of thousand-page essays, and then, whoosh, he was out of the door, leaving me to walk to class _alone._

I have to live with this… this… this _abomination_. Do you pity me?

You should.

_**June 22nd 2006.**_

Mello attempted to challenge me to one of his crazy, one-sided competitions to prove that he was better than me. Again.

It was – wait for it – a super sophisticated running race! Yay! I love running! Not.

I had to agree, though, because Mello has a gun now. I don't want to know what would happen if I denied him something. I do actually like my life, surprisingly enough – despite my constant remarks claiming otherwise.

So, we were both stationed by the huge gates at the entrance of Wammy's, ready to go. We had to run down the length of the school, around the back, around the cluster of trees, through the arches by the pond, back up the other side of the school, and repeat two more times.

But what Mello didn't realize, was that we were both insanely unfit. We had run down the length of the school (puff, pant), around the back (puff, puff, pant, pant), and were just going around the cluster of trees when we both collapsed (puff, puff, pant, pant, collapse, choke, possible death).

As we stumbled back to the start line – supporting each other as we went, because we were just too weak to carry on by ourselves - Mello actually said to me, "Matty, why are we so unfit?"

I took a deep breath (cough, cough, splutter) and said to him, "Mello, your diet consists mainly of chocolate, and the only time you ever run is when the words 'pants', 'free' and 'leather' are strung together in a coherent sentence." He nodded in agreement. "I play video games all day long, _and_ I smoke, and the only time I ever run is when you decide that you want a moving dart board with a picture of Near's face on it." Mello nodded again, his face serious.

"I see."

Personally, I think I won that race.

_**June 28th 2006.**_

What a lovely month. I've only just gotten over my fear of the ghost in the corner of the room (which, in actual fact, turned out to be a pair of Mello's old black pants lying discarded over a stray chair. Obviously.)

On the baking front; the substitute teacher _hasn't _come back – I was right. I think she's probably gone into hiding somewhere. Hell,_ I_ almost did the first time Mello treated me to his famous tantrum. There's a story behind that, but this is not the place, nor the time to tell it.

Um, what else? Oh, yes, I found the nail polish remover yesterday (it was hidden in one of Mello's boots) and rapidly removed the offending orange off of my fingers. I then tried to put a good measure of the liquid into Mello's coffee, but, unfortunately, stuffed up, and ended up putting it in _mine_. It tasted fucking disgusting, and I almost choked to death. Mello almost died of laughter.

He really is a good friend.

I'm so fucking lucky.

Not.


	7. July

Author's note: Hey! (: Chapter seven is up! I was going to post it last night, but for some reason my Doc Manager thing sucked and wouldn't let me. Anyways, credit for July 5th goes to "can't-reach-beer". And to everyone who's questioning whether there are hints of Matt/Mello in here, then yes (: I knew I couldn't hold out for long!  
>Thanks for all of your reviews! I really appreciate them! (:<p>

~Rainbow Fruit Loop.

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Seven~_**

**_July 1_****_st_****_ 2006._**

I am scarred for life, I think. Again. You know how often that happens when Mello's around? 'A lot' is the answer you're looking for.

Today I walked into our room, and found Mello in the "Downward Facing Dog" yoga position.

… Why? Why was he doing yoga? Why did he think that it would be a good way to spend his time? Who casually thinks to themselves, "Ooh, I've got a spare five minutes. I'll just do a bit of yoga."? He's so insanely weird, and I think it's bad for my health.

But, apparently, he'd gotten stuck, and had been in the position for twenty minutes. I was surprised he hadn't collapsed in a sweaty, blonde heap. His face was all bright red, and his hair was sticking out at bizarre angles.

HA! I had hysterics for at least five minutes. It was _hilarious_. Truly. He looked all annoyed and red and sweaty and stupid. He kept swearing at me, and occasionally said stuff like, "Get your useless ass over here and help me up!"

I did, of course, because I thought that I had better stop the madness before I broke my ribs from laughing. It's possible, you know.

I then asked Mello why he had been doing yoga. He told me that a healthy body led to a healthy mind. I told him that he didn't look very healthy. He punched me in the shoulder, and then vowed never to do yoga again.

Good. I'm not pulling _anyone _out of the "Downwards Facing Fucking Dog" position again.

_**July 5th 2006. **_

I managed to catch a glimpse of Mello's diary today. It was on the floor, open at some random page in February.

It was weird, though, because it didn't say "I hate Near", like I was expecting.

Instead, it said, "Dear Gus," (he was serious about calling it Gus? Oh, for the love of God.) "I really like this guy here at Wammy's. He's fucking hot and incredibly smart, and I _want _him. I _will_ make him mine. Plan? I'll seduce him with my new tight, hot pink skinnies. Oh, and by the way, it's—".

Because my life sucks arse, I didn't get to see the name, because Pickles (the fucking retard that he is) was standing on it. _WHY? I want to know who Mello wants to screw!_

I tried to shove Pickles out of the way, but he didn't move. That thing's too fucking fat. Also, Bruce was nearby, and – for some completely creepy reason – has decided that he hates me. I didn't want to make any sudden movements to remind him that I was still alive.

And then Mello came in, and I had to pretend like I hadn't noticed the wide-open diary. Mello picked Pickles up, gave him a hug, and then I didn't see the diary again.

It's weird. I suddenly feel really dejected and sad, like someone's just told me that Roger's never going to retire.

…Why am I feeling so…confused? I don't get it. And my head hurts. (Though, that may be because I accidentally fell over a pile of Mello's clothes on the floor a few minutes ago, and crashed head-first into the wastepaper basket.) I don't like this feeling. It's like jealousy mixed with annoyance and rejection.

Damn Mello. He's messing me up. I knew it.

_**July 11th 2006.**_

I have absolutely terrifying, completely sickening news. Get ready for it. Grab a bucket or something. Trust me; you'll need it.

I think it's Near. I think Mello likes Near.

I know. How could Mello betray me like this? How did this happen? What made him stop wanting to murder Near? Why _Near_ of all people? Why? WHY?

Yes, I feel like throwing up now. And I feel hysterical. And I want to punch Mello in the face. And Near, while I'm at it. I feel so angry, and it's really stupid. Mello can choose whoever he wants, right? But… why _Near?_

And, before you say it, I am _not _being hormonal.

Anyways, I'm guessing you want evidence. Well. I was walking down the corridor on my way to English Literacy, and Mello was in front of me. He was swinging his pink skinny jean-clad hips as though he was trying to be seductive, and he kept flicking his hair.

At first I thought: What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he having a seizure? And then I got a bit concerned. If he started having this weird-ass spaz on the floor, I knew that it would be _my _job to stop him from dying. And I'm no medical expert. Though, I do know what to do if someone chokes on a bit of banana.

Anyways. I then turned around, and sure enough, Near was right there. Behind me. Behind _Mello. _Close enough to get a good look at Mello's arse. And then it all fell into place. It was… _Near. _Mello wanted _Near._

The thing that really got me, though, was that Near wasn't even paying attention! I feel indignant on Mello's behalf now! How could he _not _notice Mello's super-sexy hips? Near doesn't get Mello. Gr. He doesn't deserve having someone like Mello crushing on him.

Obviously I'm not jealous or anything. I just think that Mello's making a mistake.

_**July 16th 2006.**_

…Today I realized that super-tough, completely badass Mello is afraid of storms. I am one hundred percent sure of this.

How had I not noticed this before?

Last night was really stormy, and all of the electricity went off. (This, of course, annoyed me greatly. I was halfway through a really good game on my Xbox, and was just about to win when *zap* - the power went out. Wammy's sucks.)

So, anyways, we decided to go to bed early because there was not much else we could do in the pitch black. We couldn't even have a decent conversation because the thunder was too loud, and Mello kept sneezing (he has a cold, and keeps whining about it.).

I had been in bed for about ten minutes, when I felt my duvet being pulled off my body. Then something warm climbed into the bed with me, and something soft brushed against my face.

My automatic response was, of course, to shove the warm thing out, because I was sure that it had to be either Pickles or Bruce. (I realise now that it couldn't have been the bunnies, because they would be unable to a) pull the blankets off me, and b) be the same length as me, but I wasn't thinking straight, alright? Geez. People these days are too judgmental.)

But then my hand connected with something that felt suspiciously like a face, and I thought that it was one of those ghosts from Paranormal Activity out to get me.

So I started yelling, before the _thing _in my bed sat up.

"For fucks sake, Matt, stop being such a girl." The trembling voice said. "Shut up. I want to sleep."

Ah. It was Mello, of course. And that was rich, coming from the guy who was currently pressed against my chest.

So I raised a quizzical eyebrow at him – well, he couldn't see it because the room was dark, but it was the thought that counted – and said, "Why are you in my bed?"

He was silent for a few seconds, before saying quietly, "I don't like the lightning."

Aw.

And so we spent the rest of the night curled up together, his head resting on my chest, my arms wrapped loosely around his thin frame.

And I didn't completely hate it. This confuses me.

_**July 20th 2006. **_

Somehow – I'm not quite sure how it happened – I got into a very involved game of Snakes 'n' Ladders with Near. And don't be judgmental. Snakes 'n' Ladders requires a _lot _of skill… Dice rolling isn't all about luck, you know. Pure skill, that's me.

Yeah, let's go with that.

Of course, it was all Mello's fault. He ended up getting into an argument with Near about me (I'm not sure why they were discussing me. I don't know whether I should feel proud because Mello stood up for me, or just creeped out), and he told Near that I was smarter than him.

I must remember to tell Mello that insulting Near's intelligence will not help him with his relationship status.

So Mello proposed a Snakes 'n' Ladders competition to prove this. (Because Snakes 'n' Ladders is _obviously _the best game to prove my intelligence. Because, really, it's just so much more than rolling a dice.)

Of course, Mello didn't ask me whether I would be willing to play the juvenile game just so that he could prove his point and, therefore, indirectly beat Near at something.

I didn't want to play. I had homework to pretend to do, salsa Doritos to eat, and a DS game to beat.

Still. Mello has a gun now, remember?

But, we ended up playing for two and a half hours, and I have to say that it was possibly one of the best afternoons I've ever had at Wammy's. We actually gathered quite a crowd.

Who knew that Near was so competitive? I always thought that he didn't particularly care about winning. Then again, I guess losing a game of Snakes 'n' Ladders wouldn't do much for his number one record.

Though, I'd just like to say… I WON. I am a Snakes 'n' Ladders whizz.

That is all.

_**July 24th 2006.**_

The entire orphanage managed to get into a food fight today. I don't how it happened, or why Linda thought that it would be fun to start, but the whole room was soon covered in clumps of lumpy mashed potato, peas, roast chicken, and gravy.

Roger was not impressed. Linda whispered to me and told me that I was the best liar at the orphanage (heh), so I was the one who had to face Roger.

Using my quick thinking, I managed to spin a lie about how all of us orphans had wanted to decorate the food hall by using our creative desires, or some shit like that.

He believed me.

Now all of the orphans love me.

…Actually, that's a lie.

Roger didn't believe me (surprisingly) and so I had to clean up the hall BY MYSELF. Well, I say "by myself", but Mello was there. He didn't really help, though. He muttered some crap about not wanting to sweat/get his nails dirty/mess up his hair.

I told him that he already looked a mess.

I now have a possible broken rib.

_**July 30th 2006.**_

Mello almost strangled Bruce today. Luckily for Bruce, I was there to save him from a hideous, torturous, Mello-inflicted death. I don't think he was very grateful, though, because he tried to bite me.

Anyway. I guess you're now wondering why Mello had a spaz at a poor, not-so-innocent creature.

Well. There is _one_ thing that Mello hates more than anything in the whole entire world. Yes, more than Near (or so I thought. I may have to question him about his feelings for the albino at a later date). More than double P.E. More than having chipped nail polish. More than thunder storms (yeah… Still not sure what to think about that).

And that is when his appearance is "less than satisfactory".

Well, he walked into our room today, and picked Bruce up for a cuddle. Bruce isn't fond of cuddling. So he attacked Mello.

I _knew _he was evil.

Now, I must admit, I was choking back the laughter when Mello screeched in fury when he felt Bruce's claws in his face.

Cue Bunny Strangulation.

After I'd reluctantly saved Bruce from Mello's angry grip and deposited him onto the floor, I turned to face Mello. He had this large scratch running from the bridge of his nose down to just below his jaw line. It was bleeding slightly, and his face was all red with rage. He also had all of these small cuts on his left cheek.

I'm going to be honest here. He looked like he'd fallen face-first into a thorn bush.

He said to me (whilst patting his face delicately): "Matty… How bad is it?"

Vain.

I said: "Uhh, not too bad. Go look in the mirror."

He stormed off to the bathroom, and I hid under my bed.

Hey, I'm not being a wuss. Mello's scary. You'd be hiding under the bed with me if you were here, and you know it.

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><p>I know I would (:<br>Anyways, do you guys think that Mello really is scared of thunderstorms, or that he just wanted to cuddle Matt? Or maybe both (: Tell me in a review~


	8. August

Author's note: Yus. Finally, I got a chance to write this chapter! Yeah, so sorry about the long wait; life's been a tad busy at the moment, what with Exam Week, speeches, getting sick and just general dramas. Next update should be quicker, providing I don't get sucked into another few dramas. *Eye roll*.  
>Aaaand, just because you guys have waited <em>very<em> patiently, I decided to add the August 13th thing! I hope you like~

Please review this chapter! I got a _huge _response from the last one. I love you guys in a totally non-creepy and non-stalkery way (:

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Eight~_**

_**August 2nd 2006.**_

Well, I thought that the start of August (it's the last month of summer, luckily enough. They'll be able to stop forcing us to go outside and play a "healthy game of football" or some crap like that) would bring a new understanding on this whole "Mello secretly loves Near" scenario.

…Yeah, I was wrong. It didn't. As per usual, I might add. I think I must have done something to annoy someone up there, because my life sucks. A lot.

Anyways, I'm still just as confused as ever about Mello and his "love interest". Why couldn't I end up with a normal, easy to understand friend? Noooo, I end up getting Mello. Lovely.

I honestly STILL can't believe it though. Near? Ew. He's so… weird. And pale. And weird.

I also can't believe how worked up I'm getting about it. I'm surprised I haven't punched Mello in the face yet for making such a stupid mistake.

I mean, really, if he wanted _someone _to drool over, then he could choose… I don't know. Someone like… me.

Wait, what?

…Moving on.

In Baking Class today, Mello and I decided to make sultana scones. It seems that Mello's diet _does _consist of something other than chocolate. It's a miracle! And – not to boast, or anything – but they were fucking fantastic.

We ate them with raspberry jam and whipped cream. Scones have moved up a few hundred notches on my list of favourite foods.

It's kinda cute how Mello's a good cook.

Also… uh, kind of feminine.

_**August 7th 2006.**_

Ha, it sucks to be Mello right about now. He decided that sitting outside last night and watching the stars would be a really good idea.

…He didn't take into account the fact that there are a _lot _of mosquitoes out at the moment.

He's covered head-to-toe in itchy bites. It's HILARIOUS. He keeps complaining, because, apparently, it looks like he has chicken pox. (I have to admit - it does.) And everyone knows how totally unattractive the chicken pox are. (I have to admit - they are.)

Oh, woe is Mello. His life is a series of trials and tribulations. How will he cope? How will he go on?

He keeps itching them – despite my wise words about how scratching will only make them worse.

Trust me, I know. Yeah, that summer was terrible...

Anyways, I might need to tie his hands together or something. In fact, let me just try….

Yeah, didn't think so. He bit me.

_**August 13th 2006.**_

Urgh. Today has been a day I'll never forget, that's for sure. And I can't decide whether I'm excited or annoyed about it. I hate feeling indecisive, you know. It's such a waste of time, being confused.

…I'll start from the beginning.

Roger got sick, which, really, isn't surprising for a man of his age. But, because he got sick, there was no one (the other teachers don't count - they're all useless) to tell us to behave properly. So, basically, we ended up having a no-lessons day.

Wooooh, right?

But then Linda decided to start a compulsory game of "Seven Minutes in Heaven". And – as much as I wanted to – I couldn't refuse, because Linda is scary. And, strangely enough, Mello didn't _want_ to refuse, so I couldn't even threaten Linda with the thought of Mello screaming at her.

So, we were all sitting in a really squished circle in middle of Linda's room, and she decided to make _me _the first to "go". She blindfolded me with some really thick pink scarf (pink… not really my colour), and shoved me into a hideously terrifying pit of purples and turquoises and sparkles and glitter- I mean, her wardrobe.

After almost tripping over various shoes for what seemed like an eternity, I managed to sit down on something that didn't make a weird snapping noise, and then proceeded to whine to my inner self about how horrible life was.

Then I heard laughing and cheering outside, and the door opened, and someone - presumably - got shoved inside, and practically fell into my lap. There was a bit of an awkward silence (obviously) and I wanted to yell out, "RUUUUN! GET AWAY FROM ME! SAVE YOURSELF!" but didn't.

Yeah. …I don't do so well in awkward situations.

But then – here's the part that's making me feel confused – the person (God knows who it actually was) started to hesitantly brush my hair out of my face. It kind of went on like that for a bit; them softly touching bits of my face, or gently playing with my hair, or slowly trailing a finger up and down my chest, but then they suddenly touched their lips to mine. It wasn't anything… uh, makey-outey – a series of sweet-tasting butterfly kisses more than anything else – but I just can't get it out of my head.

It felt so… right. I'm going all weird and sappy now, but it was like that person's lips were _made _for mine.

The tragic thing is, though, that the person then left the closet in a rush, so when I pulled my blindfold off, they had already sat back in the circle.

Everyone refused to tell me who it was – even _Mello _didn't say anything_. _For Christ's sake, he's supposed to be my best friend!

Ignoring all Mello-related incidents, I must find out who this mystery person is.

_**August 17th 2006.**_

Ah, no luck on the mystery-kisser thing. I don't really know how I'm going to find out. I mean, really, I can't go around the entire orphanage saying to people, "Hey, can I lock you in a closet with me for a second? I want you to kiss me!" …It would be weird.

So, I decided to tell Mello that I really, _really _wanted to find this person, (Read: "Tell me who it fucking is, bitch, before I tell Near you're in love with him!") but he just snickered and threw his chocolate wrapper at me.

… Yeah, lovely, I know.

On the plus side, though, this incident has taken my mind off of the Mello-Near thing. Because every time I remind myself of _that _I get all inexplicably sad, and get the urge to throttle Near with Linda's stupid pink scarf-turned-blindfold.

I don't know why I've become so aggressive. I'm sure it's not good for me – the genius that I am.

Hm. What other news do I have? Oh, yes, I had a strange dream last night. There were a cluster (yes, I've made the collective term for zombies a "cluster" because it sounds more epic than a "group") of zombies eating pineapples and playing cards in Near's room.

Everything was all well and good until I got eaten.

_**August 20th 2006.**_

…I managed to get into a jellybean fight with Mello today. Our entire room is littered with a scattering of rainbow jellybeans. Yes, it does look as cool as it sounds.

It was quite fun, actually, despite the fact that I'm now going to have at least a gazillion jellybean-shaped bruises on my body. (Maybe I'll end up looking like a cheetah or something?)

…On closer inspection, the wall behind Mello's bed (which has been upturned to act as a weird fort/barrier sort of thing) is covered in little multi-coloured dots. Ah, isn't artificial jellybean colouring pretty?

Now, how to clean them all up, and where to put them? Because I don't think Roger would be too pleased if he found millions of jellybeans in our bin. (Yes, sweets are strictly prohibited here at Wammy's. Except for Mello's chocolate. Because that's a _totally_ different story…)

Anyways, Mello suggested that we store them up and use them as ammunition for when we next see Near. I didn't think that was a good idea, because Near might be handy with a jellybean. He's good at everything else.

And being throttled by Near in a jellybean fight would be _very _embarrassing.

Maybe we could feed them to the rabbits? Hold on, let me try.

Hm, I just gave Pickles one, and he ate it. I didn't know rabbits liked jellybeans.

Oh, wait.

They don't.

I think I'll let Mello clean up the mess that is a chewed-up-and-spat-out jellybean coated thickly in a dumb rabbit's saliva.

_**August 26th 2006.**_

Aw. Mello got kicked out of baking class today. He's in a bit of a strop about it. (A bit? Understatement, anyone?) He doesn't seem to understand exactly _why_ he got kicked out.

Because, really, what harm could _possibly _be done by putting wads of tinfoil into the microwave to see how long it would take for said microwave to explode?

'Not long' is the answer.

Baking class is going to be boring now.

Mello has to buy a new microwave for the Baking room now. I bet he uses _my_ money.

I must hide my pitiful amount somewhere, even though we all know that Mello doesn't understand the concept of "privacy."

But, in order to cheer him up, I bought him a few bars of chocolate (with the aforementioned pitiful amount of money I have) from the shop around down the road.

I'm such a fucking nice guy.

It was strange, though, because when I gave him the chocolate, he stretched up and kissed my cheek.

Cue weird internal swooning.

…August sucks.

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><p>Dun dun duuun. Is that… the start of a <em>plot<em> I see? …Probably not (:  
>Please review, guys~<p> 


	9. September

Author's note: Hey guys! (: Look, I kept my promise and updated faster than last time~ (: That's a first! And, just letting you guys know, this fic will end in December, because a) I have so many other fics that I need to start finishing, and b) I don't want this to drag on. (:

Well, thank you guys all for your awesome reviews! I love them all! (: Please, continue to do so~

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Nine~_**

_**September 3rd 2006.**_

September brings brilliant news. Mello has decided to "help me" to find the mystery kisser! Sure, he could just _tell me _who it was, but that would be the sensible, _nice _thing to do.

Still. This could be fun.

Though, saying that, Mello really is enjoying himself too much. He keeps looking at me snickering.

Hm. Maybe… Maybe the person who kissed me was someone gross. Like… Linda. *Shudder.* If it WAS Linda, then I bet she's already planning our wedding. It'll be all white and lovely and warm and EXPENSIVE, and her dress will be beautiful and she'll look stunning. Blargh. She'll also be planning how many kids we're going to have. Yeah… that's how weird she is.

Hm.

Well, anyway, Mello's decided to be nice enough to give me clues and hints and stuff.

So, I said to him, "Is it someone that I'll like?"

He smirked, and said, "Ooh, yes, Matty. Definitely." Then he winked, and slowly licked his lips. (I think he was teasing me.)

It's not Linda then. Thank GOD.

…So, who here does Mello think I could like? Who could I ever _imagine _liking?

Apart from the obvious, of course. Mello doesn't count.

Wait… what? Did I just admit-

No. I am _not _going to think about the possible self-admission about my feelings for Mello which may or may not be true.

Not. Going. There.

_**September 8th 2006.**_

September brings even more brilliant news! I officially love September.

Favourite. Month. Ever.

I'm so happy that I could cry! Except crying is very unmanly, and everyone here knows that I am a _very _manly person - save for having two smuggled bunny rabbits in my room, and occasionally - _just occasionally - _having to paint Mello's nails for him when he can't be bothered.

He's got a gun, remember? Why do you keep forgetting that? Geez, anyone would think that you thought that I was just using it as an excuse for doing things for Mello…

Anyways, moving on. I'll spit out the good news!

I decided to man up and just _ask _Mello if he liked Near. I mean, really, it couldn't make me feel any worse, right?

So I said, "Hey, uh, Mels? Do you like Near?"

He just looked at me with those unblinking blue eyes of his, so I had to clarify my question.

"Do you want to screw Near?"

Unfortunately for Mello, he had just taken a swig of his Coke Cola. Predictably, he spat it out all over me, and, literally, had a ten minute choke.

When he was calm enough to speak, and I had wiped his Coke-flavoured saliva off of my face, he simply said, "What. The. Fuck?"

So I explained the situation to him, and he just smiled that annoyingly patronizing smirk and said, "No. I don't want to screw Near. It's someone else. You'll figure it out eventually, my dear Matty." Then he patted my arm slowly - condescendingly - making me think that I'm missing something glaringly obvious, and that I'm just a little bit slow.

So now I have to find my mystery kisser, _and_ find out who Mello likes.

I'll be like a real detective.

Maybe I really am cut out to be L.

_**September 12th 2006.**_

Not much happened today on the detective front.

We had double Physics, though. I swear, bits of my brain are fried.

I did get into an argument with Mello, though. We had a… _disagreement _about the definition of the word "kindness."

He thought that deleting all of the saved data on my Play Station's memory card was _"kind". _

I disagreed.

His line of reasoning was that he was helping me out, because he didn't want me to run out of space.

Bullshit.

In the end, though, we resorted to finding our very large Collins Dictionary, and searching for the definition.

I won.

_**September 17th 2006.**_

…September attempted to take a turn for the worse. But then it got better, and I feel happy.

Really, though, I think September's being a bit bipolar.

Anyways, I managed to catch a fever. Brilliant, right? Well, it is, actually, because I managed to miss our Algebra exam, and we all know how horrible Algebra is. I swear, Maths is the work of the devil.

Anyways, I got sick, and spent the entire day moping on my bed, not even feeling well enough to play video games. I mostly just watched overly dramatic soaps about how Alysha's best friend, Connor, started to date her brother's best friend's cousin's sister, and how that made Alysha angry because _she _wanted to date Connor, but can't, because she's carrying someone else's baby.

…Yeah, I fell asleep during that particularly interesting bit of plot.

So, I'm guessing you're thinking that I had a really crap day, right? Wrong.

Because - here's the part that makes me feel all warm on the inside - Mello decided to _miss _the Algebra exam (even though that means that Near will definitely be first this month) and stay to help care for me.

Aw, right? It was quite sweet, actually. He spent the entire day getting me drinks, letting me eat some of his chocolate (OMG!) fluffing up my pillows, generally keeping me company, and laughing at the crap television with me.

I never thought that he had a soft spot. But I guess he does. It's really sweet.

Obviously I'm feeling a lot better now. I've got Pickles snuggled up with me, and I can't really move because I'm afraid of being squashed. Really, what's Mello been feeding that thing?

Ah well. I hope I'm feeling better tomorrow.

Or maybe I don't…

_**September 23rd 2006.**_

…I'm actually kind of worried about Mello. He's been so… strange these past few days.

He actually persuaded me to ditch class today.

I know, I know. Mello… ditching class? As in, missing out on valuable work? Giving Near the opportunity to actually win? That's twice this month.

But I'm not complaining. Definitely not.

We snuck out of the school - it has surprisingly little security for an orphanage in the middle of Winchester - and went down to this small café thing.

Mello said he was going to pay for lunch, and free food is good food.

The guy who owned the café - as nice as he was - had a thick Italian accent which I couldn't understand, so, after we had finally ordered food, he left us alone.

Alone. All alone. I'll admit it; I was kind of nervous, and I have no idea why. It was like… first date butterflies. (Not that I'd know what that feels like.)

But it was okay, because all we did was chat about… everything, really.

That's one of the things I love about Mello. He's so easy to talk to. You know how with some people, conversation's really awkward? It's never like that with Mello, though, because, God, he's like a fucking teenage girl. He doesn't shut up if you get him going. Not that I mind, of course.

He gave me another clue about my mystery kisser, though.

He said, "They're blonde."

And as soon as he said that, my heart started racing. I mean, really? _Blonde?_

Could it be… _him? _I mean… well, I don't know. Mello said that I would like them, and they're blonde, and I think I could like him if I tried, and he's blonde…

I need help.

_**September 27th 2006.**_

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.

I could carry on like this for months, so I think I should just spill.

I had an awkward moment today. A _very _awkward moment. It involved Mello, as is to be expected.

So, it started out as something completely innocent. Mello was really annoying me (surprises unbound) - he was talking about some crap to do with photosynthesis and how I should try it - so I grabbed his chocolate off him and threatened to throw it out of the window unless he shut up. (I was in a bad mood, alright?)

I should have known that nothing is that easy when it comes to Mello. He kind of lunged at me, causing me to trip over the edge of his desk and fall onto the ground.

Of course, Mello landed on top of me, making no effort to avoid crushing my body.

Having Mello's warm body pressed into mine - his soft hair tickling my face, warm breath on my neck - should have felt absolutely disgusting, but I would be lying if I said that it had.

Yes. I've realised it now. I mean, look at all of the evidence. All I have to do is to look over the last few months of my diary, and _wince _at how completely oblivious I was.

Oh God.

…I think I'm falling in love with Mello.

And I'm absolutely terrified by what it means.


	10. October

Author's note: What's this? _Another_ update in less than a week? Wow. Yeah, I was bored in the weekend (: So, anyways, this is the third to last chapter!  
>Buuut, I have had requests for Mello's diary of the same year to be written. HOWEVER, I have some doubts about it, because the things that happen would be the same as in Matt's, but from a different perspective. (Mello's. OMG, run!) I don't know if you guys would get bored of the same thing. But, please review and tell me if you <em>would <em>read it, because if enough people say yes, then I'll write it (:  
>On the subject of reviews, thanks for all of yours~ They're all very nice (: And, to everyone who called Matt either slow, oblivious or dumb - yes, I agree (: Buuut he's cool, so we can forgive him :P<p>

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Ten~_**

_**October 1st 2006.**_

Okay. I am calm enough to speak properly now. I guess you guys are all expecting an explanation on the whole "OMG, I'M IN LOVE!" thing, since I just kind of stopped writing last month.

So, yes, I have fallen in love with Mello. It's true. I have _no _idea how it happened, or _why _it happened, or _what _to do about it, but… yeah.

I don't know if I should tell him. I mean, I don't think he'd be _angry_, as such, because we're such close friends, but… yeah. If it _did _make him feel uncomfortable, then it would ruin everything, and I don't want to take that chance.

Or do I?

But what if the person in the wardrobe _was _him? Because that would mean that he _did _like me - he would have kissed me, after all - and everything would be fine. More than fine, actually. We could… I don't know, be together or something.

But if it _was _him, then why hasn't he done anything about it? Is he _shy? _Or has he not made up his mind about whether or not he wants to be my boyfriend?

Fuck, I'm so confused. I think I preferred being asexual, you know. It was definitely easier.

I've decided to avoid Mello for a bit (easier said than done, seeing as I live in the same room as him), just until I decide what to do. I mean, knowing Mello, he'd pick up on my change of feelings, and, as I've said, I don't know what I'd do if he asked me.

Maybe, if I do want to confess, I could make him some sort of chocolate cake covered in pink or red hearts? Or, I could find one of those love heart sweet things with the words, "Be Mine" on it and give it to him? Or, I could whisper it to him in his sleep, and then when he woke up he'd think that it was his subconscious talking to him.

Oh God, I just heard the door opening. Mello's coming! Quick, I must stop writing and pretend like I _haven't _been thinking about him! Shit, where's my DS when you need it?

Argh, I can't find it! Time for Plan Two! The closet!

…FML.

_**October 6th 2006.**_

Today, Mello asked me why I was avoiding him.

ARGH. Why does Mello have to be so observant? Pity he's a genius. Because, really, he's so much smarter than me when it comes to this sort of stuff. I mean, I think my IQ's getting close to mental retardation just by _thinking _about Mello and the mystery kisser scenario.

Don't judge.

But, anyways, I tried to say, "Who's avoiding who?" in a casual, offhand way, but he just raised an eyebrow at me.

He said, "Matty, I found you hiding from me in the closet a few days ago. If _that's _not avoiding me, then I don't know what is."

I kind of gave this weird chuckle thing - it sounded like I was being strangled, but I'm hoping he didn't notice the odd hacking noises - and said, "Who doesn't love a good game of hide 'n' seek, Mels?"

He just looked at me. You know that kind of look people give you when they know that you're talking absolute crap? Yeah, it was that look.

So I decided to change my tactics. I thought that maybe I could make him think he was going loopy or something. In hindsight, if that _had _happened, that probably would have been dangerous. I mean, Mello being sane-ish is terrifying enough, thank you.

But anyways, I said to him, "Maybe you're paranoid, Mels? Why would I want to avoid you? Maybe you're the one avoiding me?"

Reverse psychology. Always works.

He looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "That's true. But I've hardly seen you for the past few days, and I know it's not _my_ fault!"

Reverse psychology. Never works.

But, um, yeah. How should I have gotten around that?

In the end I panicked, and just ended up mumbling some crap about entering the school Chess Club.

I don't think he believed me, though, because he gave me the aforementioned "look".

I really do need to learn how to be subtle when it comes to the art of avoiding people.

Maybe I could learn from Near? He's an expert when it comes to having no friends.

_**October 16th 2006.**_

Mello was bored yesterday, so he stole my laptop and managed to find a list of things called, "Ten Things to do at Walmart."

Roger lets us go into town on Saturdays (today is Saturday) and so Mello thought that we should try the list using his six favourites.

It was _hilarious._

So, we caught the bus from outside of the orphanage, went into town, and found the largest Tescos we could.

Now, one of the great things about Mello is that he's a _brilliant_ actor - like, insanely good - and he doesn't get embarrassed easily. I told him that he could be the one to do the acting, and I'd just watch (and kill myself laughing, as it turns out).

I'll go through what happened.

**Number One. "Go up to a stranger and say, 'Hi! How are you doing? It's been so long!'."**

So, we walked around the shop for a bit until we found a young girl who looked like she'd play along instead of punching Mello in the face and telling him to piss off.

So, Mello walked up to her, and said, "Oh my gosh! Hi! How are you doing? It's been so long!" in this ultra-gay voice.

Now, I should have known that Mello doesn't do things by halves. Because, just as the girl was about to open her mouth and say something, Mello wrapped his arms around her in a huge bear hug, and lifted her off the ground.

God, her expression sent me into hysterics. Fuck, I almost had to leave the shop.

She looked absolutely mortified; like she _knew _that she should remember him (Mello's really convincing, remember?) but couldn't.

So then Mello put her feet back on the ground, and pulled away, and she offered a shaky, "Hey…!"

Mello then started nattering about everything and anything. "How's Natalie? Has she had her baby yet? And how's Dan? You two still together, or has he cheated on you again? If not, then can we expect a happy announcement anytime soon? Oh, and I saw your Mum a few days ago. Her hair's looking lovely!"

The girl just kind of nodded and said, "Uh huh…" Her eyes kept flickering towards the doors, and I could tell that Mello had noticed, because the smallest smirk appeared on his lips.

The encounter kind of went on like that for a bit before the girl said, "I really, really need to go, because I think that maybe my house is on fire!"

When Mello came sauntering back to me, I was literally holding my sides. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much.

**Number Two. "Challenge other customers to duels with tubes of gift wrap."**

I had to help with this one, because Mello thought it would be funnier with both of us fighting.

So, we both chose tubes of gift wrap in our favourite colours (me: a particularly unflattering shade of orange, and Mello: black with pink stars) and grabbed another few in boring silver for our other "opponents."

Then we started a fight right there in the "Stationary and Cards" isle, and it was only a few minutes before a group of spotty, unintelligent teenage boys started gawking at us.

We threw them a few of our silver tubes, and, before we knew it, we were involved in a ten-person-and-counting gift wrap duel. I swear other people were grabbing rolls of gift wrap to join in with us.

It was like a flash mob, only with gift wrap dueling.

But, God, it was _so _much fun.

It was all well in good until an old fat man (who, unfortunately, worked at Tesco, and, therefore had "authority") decided that "enough was enough" and that we should scatter.

**Number Three. "Hold indoor shopping cart races."**

Since we already had a crowd of people hanging around with us, we told them all our third plan. They all seemed strangely enthusiastic, but that was probably because they had been forced to come with their parents, and wanted to rebel against the system.

Of course, we waited a few minutes so that the man with the beard thought that we were behaving, and lollopped off somewhere.

We collected three trolleys, and then decided on the course, which was through the toiletry isle, around the collection of scarily-expensive electronics, down the fruit isle, and then back to the Stationary isle.

We had three people racing at a time, and managed to reach the semi-finals before we were yelled at by the same fat man, who started to turn an alarming shade of beetroot.

Mello, surprisingly, was in the semi-finals, even though we've all seen how incredibly unfit he is. I think it's because he refused to lose to a bunch of strangers.

**Number Four.** **"When an announcement comes over the loudspeaker, assume the fetal position and scream, 'No, no! It's those voices again!'."**

Mello was the one who had to this, naturally. I didn't really like making a fool out of myself more times then necessary.

We made sure that he was positioned in the middle of the front of the shop - the place with all of the checkouts - and then when an announcement came on about how all children's toys were fifty percent off, Mello clutched at his head, assumed the fetal position, and started fake crying.

"No! NO!" he had shouted.

Of course, one of the nicer-looking people who worked there - that is, not the guy we had encountered twice before - went up to Mello, and said, all concerned, "What's wrong, honey?"

Mello looked up at her with fake tears glistening in his eyes (I don't know how he does it. He's fucking _brilliant) _and started screaming.

When she'd calmed him down enough - it involved taking him to the Staff-Only area (I watched through the panel of glass in the door) and giving him chocolate until he stopped screeching - she asked him what he was scared of.

He said, "It's those voices… The voices are back…" and started crying again.

I was almost crying as well - crying with laughter. Honestly, take my word for it. Mello's acting is beyond words.

Then the woman chuckled, and put her arm around him and said, "You don't need to be scared of the voices, darling. It's only people like me speaking through the intercom. It's nothing scary!"

"Are you sure?"

The woman then nodded, and smiled at him."It's nothing to be afraid of!"

Mello nodded slowly, sniffled, and said, "T-Thanks. I think I get it now… I won't be scared anymore."

She smiled, and he hopped of his chair and made his way over to the door.

When he came out - a bar of chocolate clutched in his hand - we both had hysterics. Mello's really fun to be around, if he's not in a mood.

I said, "She… She believed you! She honestly thought that you were scared of the intercom!"

Mello - through his laughter - choked out, "She was all concerned and everything!"

Ah, good times.

**Number Five. "Try on crazy costumes and walk casually through the store."**

This was another one that Mello wanted me to join in for. We walked around the woman's clothes for a bit, and Mello found us a few feather boas. We were basically trying to find the weirdest, most colourful clothes in the shop.

Armed with some disgusting items on "fashion" - which, really, I'd be ashamed to be seen wearing if I was serious about buying them - we walked into the fitting rooms and got changed.

I looked like a hippy. I was wearing large, purple, heart-shaped glasses, a rainbow-coloured beanie with earflaps and a pompom on top, a red feather boa, a tight lime green t-shirt with a pink peace sign on it, a pair of black leggings (ew. _Leggings) _and these really weird clompy school shoe things.

I didn't want to leave the changing rooms, but I thought that - since Mello had made an effort - I should too.

Though, I almost had to go back into the changing rooms when I saw what Mello was wearing.

Fuck, I can't even begin to describe it. Just imagine: a skimpy pink skirt, a too-tight purple strapless shirt, _many _feather boas, and these really, really high stilettos.

I know. I thought the hot pink skinny jeans were bad. Thinking about it now, I think I kinda miss them.

Just, remember, though: Mello doesn't do life by halves.

So I said to him, "…You, uh, look like a transvestite, Mels."

And he just beamed at me, like he was proud or something.

Walking around the store was hilarious, though, because no one could say anything to us, because we were walking. Just walking. And, we had a backup excuse just in case anyone _did _ask us what we were doing. It was: "We're taking our clothes for a test drive."

No one asked, though, so Mello actually told some random guy who was looking at us weirdly.

We had to stop though after Mello fell over in his too-high heels for the fifth time, and almost broke an ankle. It stops getting fun when bones break, you know.

**Number Six. "Walk up to an employee and tell him in an official tone, "I think we've got a Code Three in Housewares," and see what happens."**

Now, I this is the one that I thought would be the most interesting. I mean, doesn't everyone want to know what a "Code Three" is? Turns out we didn't actually get to know, but oh well.

So, Mello - who, by now, had changed out of his transvestite clothing - did this really professional walk - surely you've all seen it? That really fast walk that people do when _they_ _mean_ _business_ - up to a gullible looking young female (we decided that young females were the most likely to believe him, because they're all so ditzy).

After glancing at her nametag, Mello said,"Stacy, we have a Code Three in Housewares." in this really official, deadpanned voice.

Stacy's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped a little.

She said, "Are you sure? Code _Three?"_

Mello nodded seriously. "Yes, Code Three, I'm afraid. Am I alright leaving this with you? Are you able to manage sufficiently?"

"Yes, sir." She replied.

Mello? A sir? Pfft…

So then Mello nodded at her and walked away. Stacy then pressed a little button on the intercom and said in this mega-panicky voice, "We have a Code Three in Housewares! Repeat, Code Three in Housewares! Quickly, people! Code Three!"

We then decided that our job was done, and sprinted away before people could realize that we were only "joking", and arrested us.

Oh my God. I cannot remember the last time I had so much fun. Who knew that supermarkets were so amusing? Mello's just so entertaining to be around, I guess.

I bet he could even make cleaning toilets fun.

But then, at the end of the day, he surprised me by giving me this really warm hug, and murmuring, "Thank you, Matty. I had a lot of fun today."

Aw.

_**October 23rd 2006.**_

Right. Now, fun day out at the supermarket or not, I'm still _super _confused about what I should do.

Though, saying that, I _did _end up telling _someone _today.

Want to take a guess? …No? Not interested enough?

It was L.

…I know, I know. You've probably got that look on your face - the 'WTF' look. (Trust me, I'm familiar with it.) Let me explain.

L came on one of his weird visits to talk to us about our futures, but this time he wanted to talk to us individually.

When it was my turn, I, obviously, went in to talk to him; only because I had to, mind you.

It was half way through the "chat" when L said, "You look distracted, Matt-kun. Something the matter?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so." I replied intelligently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, nibbling at his thumb nail.

And it all came flooding out.

You know how sometimes you just want to tell someone something to get it off your chest? Yeah, it was like that. I was just feeling so clogged up with emotions that I still don't quite understand, and it felt like I was going to explode unless I told someone.

And I didn't think that L would judge me. Much.

I blurted out some inarticulate crap - something like what follows.

"I think I'm falling in love with Mello, and I have _no_ idea what to do about it. I'm so confused. I mean, he's told me that he's gay and everything, and I'm _totally_ fine with that, and I don't think he'd hate me if I told him the truth, but I don't want to risk it. And I know that he really likes someone here at Wammy's, and it _might _be me, but I'm not sure because I'm too scared to ask him. I thought that it was Near, but it wasn't. And then we played this game called "Seven Minutes in Heaven" and I got locked in the wardrobe, and someone got shoved in with me and kissed me, and I don't know who it was, but it could be Mello, because he's been giving me clues, kind of, and he fits the descriptions. But then, if it was him, and he _does_ like me, then why has he not done anything about it? I mean, this is _Mello _we're talking about_, _so it's not like he's shy or anything, so that makes me thing that maybe it's _not _me, so will I just end up making a fool out of myself and ruining a perfect friendship if I confess?"

Told you it was all crap. It also took me a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal.

L just looked at me with those dark, blank eyes of his, which really annoyed me.

"Why don't you just tell him?" he finally suggested.

I was just about to start screeching - "Weren't you _listening? _I _can't _confess, because it might ruin _everything. _WHY WEREN'T YOU LISTENING?" - before he stopped me by saying, "Or, you could ask him who he likes."

I paused for a second.

"I mean, has he ever lied to you? If you asked him, would he be honest with you?"

Hm. Good point.

So I said, "Well, yeah, he probably _would_ tell me the truth."

L smiled. "And if that someone he mentions is not you, then you can pretend like it doesn't hurt until you are out of sight. Merely asking him won't make him suspect your feelings. And, then if he tells you that he likes _you_, then your problem is sorted."

Teenage dramas. I've had enough of them already.

"But…" I then paused for a second.

L raised an eyebrow at me. I think that he was secretly enjoying this.

"I've always thought that dating your best friend is like committing friendship suicide, because if it doesn't work out, you'll never be as close to them as you were before." I said. "Do I want to risk it?"

"If you don't do anything, things will just keep getting more awkward around him." L shot back. "You'll be so aware of him that it will be hard to concentrate on anything else. Your friendship will probably suffer as a consequence. So, you either leave it and try to save an already condemned friendship, or you go for it and get what you want.'

Hm. It sounded like he was speaking from personal experience. I almost asked him, but then refrained. I don't really want to know the ins and outs of L's sex life.

But his words have motivated me.

How hard can asking Mello who he likes be?


	11. November

Author's Note: Update is happening! Yay! (: I hope you guys like it! It's the second to last one! I haven't decided on whether I'm going to write Mels' diary yet, but I'll think about it after I finish some other fics (: (Okay, too many exclamation marks in that bit of Author's Note. O.o)**  
><strong>

I'd like to give a HUGE thanks to the absolutely lovely "_tii-chan17" _for the _amazing_ fan art she made! I love it (: A lot.

To everyone who reviewed: You guys are beautiful. I'm in a weird mood, so don't be too weirded out (:

Please review this chapter! I'll update the last one (it's quite sad that it's gonna end, really) as soon as poss!

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

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><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Eleven~_**

_**November 2nd 2006.**_

Okay, well, this isn't a proper diary entry. I just wanted to say: I'm going to do it now.

But there's been a bit of a change of plan. I've decided to stop being such a coward, and just _do it_. I mean, L's suggestion was really good, and it makes a lot of sense, but… it won't _solve _anything. Not really.

So I'm just going to tell him. I'm just going to come out and say, "Mello, I think I'm falling in love with you."

…Oh crap. I'm going to be murdered, I know it.

Wish me luck.

…_**Later…**_

Oh. My. Fucking. God. I'm still alive! Wow. Okay. Fuck. Wow. God, I don't even know what to write! I can't even form a coherent sentence on the paper! Breathe…

I'll start from the beginning.

Well, after I finished writing the previous entry thing, I turned to Mello, who was playing a game of solitaire on _my_ laptop.

I said, "Mello, can you stop playing solitaire for a second? Can you come and sit here on the bed with me? We need to talk."

He looked up from the computer, and - surprisingly - didn't make a fuss about moving. He just came over and sat down next to me.

He said, "If this is about me accidentally breaking your Play Station, then I'm _really, really _sorry. I didn't mean too, but Bruce just-"

At which point I got slightly distracted, and kind of yelled, "WAIT, WHAT? What have you done to my Play Station?" for a bit.

I never said that I was romantic, so stop shaking your head at me. I didn't ruin the moment on _purpose._

But, after we'd finished our "discussion" about my Play Station (it's okay; he's buying me a new one… or, so he says), I calmed down and hid my trembling fingers from him.

I said, "Okay, well, that's not why I want to talk."

He looked at me for a bit, and then raised an eyebrow quizzically as if to say, "Well, I don't have all day - what the fuck did you want to talk about?"

I took a deep breath and said, "Mels… I, uh, think I'm… I mean, I _know_ that I'm… What I'm trying to say is, um… Fuck… I think I… shit." and then I trailed off.

Come on, be sympathetic, please. It was terrifying, knowing that the next few words I was going to speak were going to change everything _forever. _

But I'd forgotten how… _gentle _Mello is when he's talking to me. He's always nice when he can tell that I'm stuck for words, or struggling with something.

You're probably shocked now, but… Mello treats me differently than he treats other people. He always has. So, he might be a mega bitch most of the time, but he _does _care for me. In his own, special way.

So, he tilted his head to the side, and said, "Matty? What are you trying to say? Just squeeze your eyes closed and spit it out."

He knows me too well. Because if I'm in a difficult situation, I always find it easier to cope with if I close my eyes. It's the whole, "If I can't see the issue, maybe it'll go away," mentality. The guinea pig approach to life.

Anyways, I squeezed my eyes shut, and blurted out, "Fuck it, Mels. I've fallen in love with you."

I honestly don't know what I was expecting when I opened my eyes. A gun pointed at my face? A punch in the nose? A disgusted shudder? A "what the fuck are you on about?" look?

Well, whatever I was expecting, it was definitely _not_ what I got.

Because what I got was a pair of impossibly soft lips attached to mine.

No jokes.

Seriously, as soon as I blinked my eyes open, Mello's face was _inches _from mine. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt a blush spreading across my cheeks, giving me that attractive tomato hue. I have to admit, I was kind of confused when I leant forwards to close the distant between us, because my body was working _way _faster than my brain.

I felt all of the stupid things you're supposed to feel when you kiss someone you really like - fireworks, butterflies, magic, chemistry, _whatever. _It's not like I needed anything to confirm that I was attracted to him. Even _I _can figure that out. (Eventually…)

The feel of his lips on mine was enchanting. They're as soft as they look, and Mello seemed to know what he was doing, which is always a bonus, because I had no clue. (Typical. He's better at kissing than me, and we're _both_ new to this. At least, I _think_ Mello is. I suppose he would have boasted about it if he had made out with someone before.)

Before I knew it, my arms had snaked around Mello's waist, his hot mouth was on my throat, and I was groaning. He was on top of me, his body pressing almost painfully into mine.

All I could think was, "Oh my God. Mello's _kissing _me. Mello's lips. On mine. Right now. And we're both enjoying it."

But I kind of stopped thinking when Mello gently put the tip his tongue in my mouth. It did give me a fright, but it felt _so good. _Mello tastes nice, by the way. Intoxicating. Sweet. …Chocolatey.

…Aaaand, then we fell off the bed, and landed with a painful -_thump_- on the ground.

I don't think that Wammy's beds are made for heavy make out sessions.

After we'd untangled ourselves from each other, Mello punched me in the arm. _Hard. _

"What the _fuck _was that for?" I whined, rubbing at my arm. It _hurt. _A _lot._

"Your bed sucks." Mello growled, getting up and extending a hand out to me. "We're doing it on _mine_ next time."

And then he smiled a sincere, happy grin, and I almost melted.

"So it _was_ you in the wardrobe!" I exclaimed, a stupid grin plastered on my face. I hope that doesn't put him off. My smiles tend to be more manic than nice.

"Nah. It was Near." Mello said, waving a hand dismissively.

My jaw dropped open, giving me that _really _attractive gormless look.

"What the fuck? _NEAR? _Ew." I said, panicked.

I mean, that's fucking gross. I would rather dig my eyes out with a blunt spoon then kiss Near.

I was just about to go and locate some strong disinfectant (does that stuff come in mint flavour?) when Mello snorted with laughter. "Jokes. Of course it was me, idiot."

Cue massive internal sigh of relief.

"So… You _definitely _feel the same way… right? You weren't just… I don't know. Pretending?" I asked as Mello pulled me into another one of his warm embraces. (Except, this time, it felt so right.)

"Yeah, I do feel the same, Matty. And have done since… I don't know. Last Christmas-ish."

My jaw dropped open again. I've got the manically gormless look down to a T.

"Why didn't you do anything about it?" I complained, feeling slightly hard done by.

"…I thought you were straight." Mello admitted.

"…Um, why?" I asked incredulously. I mean, even I had no idea whether I was straight or not. Then again, we've all seen proof of the fact that I'm not exactly the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to relationships.

I'd say I was the white crayon, or the weird dark green colour that no one really likes.

"Because, fuckwad, _I'm _your best friend, and you never made a move on me! You didn't even flirt with me!" Mello said, rolling his eyes. "And if you weren't going to hit on _me _then I just presumed that you were straight."

I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.

"You… You thought I was straight because… because I didn't hit on_ you?" _I said through my laughter. "Gee, Mels, you're so egotistical." (Big words, I know.) "I could be gay and _not_ hit on you, you know."

But we both knew that it was _very _unlikely.

_**November 5th 2006.**_

Okay, well. It's three days since the "confession" scenario, and Mello and I are officially "a couple". Kind of. Maybe. Ish.

I've been looking in the thesaurus for a synonym for "a couple", because that sounds so stupidly _Hollywood_, and we all know how well Hollywood romances turn out.

SPOILERS. Someone always dies. It's like Romeo and Juliet, except not as tragic, because usually the person dies because they overdose on heroin.

…Or, they go outside in THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING WINTER and forget to take a scarf and _freeze _to death outside a pub or something.

…_Or, _they have one of those funny, yet _incredibly_ retarded competitions with someone where they have to eat as many M&Ms with chopsticks as possible, and end up getting a blue one lodged deep in their throat before choking to death because no one thought that learning the Heimlich maneuver might come in handy.

…Or something.

Now that I think about it, Hollywood is _such_ a waste of space.

Anyway, even though Mello and I are _together _now, we've decided to keep it a secret. I don't quite know how people (namely Roger) would react, and it seems like a bit of a hassle to try to get people to keep it a secret from him.

And Linda would probably go all fan-girly and weird, and that's just fucking stupid.

So, even though it would be quite cool to let people know that _I'm _Mello's boyfriend (therefore making me feel all flattered and special), I'm keeping my mouth shut.

But, just think. Someone as hot and smart and confident and badass as Mello chose _me_.

Take that, bitches.

It's funny, though, because I thought everything would change dramatically.

But it hasn't, not really. I mean, our attitudes towards each other haven't changed, and there's not that uncomfortable awkwardness that I was expecting.

Being in a relationship with Mello hasn't made our friendship lessen - in fact, it's made us grow even closer. We still have our weekly game of Twister (he won this week. I was greatly disappointed) and he still points his gun at me when I annoy him (which is quite often, really, now that I think about it.)

Ah, good times.

_**November 11th 2006.**_

Because Mello's _very _manly, he's gone and bought some new items of clothing. He actually left our room after saying, "Yay! Shopping!"

I know, I know. I'd run, if I were you.

So, he bought this quite bizarre, yet quite sexy leather vest (is it actually supposed to be a vest? I can't tell. Is it a leather tube top?) thing that is _already_ too short for him, because it just kind of… _stops_ mid stomach.

Don't worry, it gets worse.

Because Mello's favourite colour (apart from bright pink) is black, he usually always wears black skinny jeans (when he's not wearing pink, that is). But why wear black skinny jeans when you can wear low-riding, skin-tight, shiny-leather lace-up pants?

Lace up. _Lace up. _Why? Why would you want lace up pants? He needs help getting into them too, so they lack something of a practical value.

…And where do you buy lace up leather pants from? "Leather Fetishes R Us"? I don't even want to think about it too much. The images…

As sexy as he looks, though, I must admit that he looks a bit like a prostitute. But it's okay, because he's _my _prostitute.

On the plus side, he also bought a pair of grey track pants with the words "Kiss Me" etched on the arse in dark pink.

I was more than happy to comply.

…But I think he needs to think of a style of clothing he likes, and _stick _to it.

_**November the… I don't even know. It's 2009 though, right?**_

Urgh. I think my head is going to explode. I can barely open my eyes, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. It's _horrible. _

THE WORLD IS SPINNING, AND I WANT IT TO STOP.

I'm now experiencing my first ever hangover. Yay. I never want another one. I think I'll just be that random, really naff kid in the corner of the room who only ever drinks lemonade.

Anyway. Some random kid at Wammy's had a birthday yesterday, and managed to sneak in a crap-load of alcohol. I don't know how. I guess Roger's oblivious to a lot of things. Like Pickles and Bruce.

So, somehow, this guy managed to have a party (…I don't even know his name. Then again, I wasn't even invited. Mello and I simply gate crashed) when Roger retired to bed, and everyone drank as much as possible.

I'm sure Roger actually _did _know what was happening, and just thought, "Ah, they'll all get massive hangovers tomorrow, and that'll teach them."

It did, because I am _never _drinking again. Ever. Why would you want to drink so much that you'd feel like _this _when you woke up the following morning? It's so horrible.

It would have been fine if Mello hadn't decided that having a drinking competition with vodka shots would be fun.

Well, it was fun… at the time. I think. I can't remember it that much.

And now I can't really do much because my head is burning, and I think my writing is probably going all skew-iff, and scrawling half off the page. I'm probably writing on the desk, but I can't tell the difference.

…And our room is already incredibly graffitied, so I don't think it really matters.

Mello's fine though, even though he drank as much as me. He's prancing around in his slutty leather pants (but totally hot, so I'm not complaining), singing an annoyingly catchy song, and throwing odd things at me.

He's such a bitch sometimes.

But you know what _really_ annoys me? Mello won the drinking competition.

_**November 17th 2006.**_

Remembered the date, which is always a good thing.

Anyway, Mello's all stressed out (SURPRISE!) because we've got a few exams coming up.

Apparently, if he does well in these, then he will beat Near, become L's successor, kill criminals everywhere, and become super rich, cool and loved by all. His words, not mine.

At the moment, he's poured over our Algebra textbook, frantically scribbling out the answer to a question I probably wouldn't know how to approach. It's an incredibly hard question (apparently), and he keeps crossing bits out and swearing.

…I think he's overtired. I tried to give him a soothing shoulder massage before, but he just screamed at me.

Maybe I'll make a chocolate milkshake to motivate him.

…

Okay, drinking a humongous chocolate milkshake with chocolate ice cream, sprinkles and chocolate sauce in front of his face didn't help. I'm all covered in chocolate now, and it's anything _but _kinky.

It's tragic.

_**November 21st 2006.**_

Aw. Mello was really sweet today. Not only did he buy me the previously promised Play Station, he also bought me two new games.

See, I _told_ you he could be nice if he wanted to. It was actually really sweet, because he didn't make a big deal out of it - he just left it on my bed for me to find.

There was also this card attached, and it had a small heart on the front. Inside he had written, "Here we go, Matty. I promise I won't break this one. I love you. Mels xxx"

If I wasn't such a man, I _might _have shed a few tears. I didn't, by the way. That would be weird, and Mello would have beaten me up.

He doesn't really do crying.

He was a bit annoyed, though, when I spent the rest of the afternoon playing my new games instead of cuddling in front of the television with him.

Oops. He's already threatened to shoot the new Play Station twice, so his promise of, "I won't break this one", was a bit half-arsed.

When I managed to finally stop playing my games, I asked him where he got the money from. I mean, Play Stations aren't cheap. And - as far as I know - he doesn't work.

Unless, of course, he bought the slutty leather pants for a reason…

But there's no point on dwelling on that, because he told me that he has a special bank account with lots of money in it, because - when his parents died - he got everything.

Apparently, he's absolutely _loaded_.

Huh.

Why does the bitch keep using my pitiful amount of money then?

_**November 30th 2006.**_

I can't believe that Mello and I have been _together _for almost a month now. Time's flown by. I mean, fuck, it's almost Christmas.

I do love Christmas though. But that might mainly be because I _love _the winter. I like it when it gets dark, and everyone turns their lights on. I also love it when in snows, just because it looks so fresh and pretty, and we're actually allowed to have the heaters on _all day_. And when it rains when I'm trying to sleep, just because it's really soothing.

Okay, I'm getting distracted now. Winter really isn't that interesting. I can't believe I wrote so much about the fucking cold when I have something much more interesting to say!

Wait for it… Wait for it… I lost my virginity last night. It was amazing, and I can see why some people turn all sex-crazed and manic.

…That's not going to be me, by the way. I was just saying.

I'm not going to go into details because that would be weird… and creepy… and… ever-so-slightly gross, but I'll just say - Mello was surprisingly gentle and soft. On a slight side note, I think his breath permanently tastes like chocolate. I'm not sure if that's healthy, but hey.

Anyway, I was his first time too, so it was really quite special.

I never thought that the first time I'd have sex it would be with _Mello_. He stole my first "crush" (such a childish term, but I can't think of a better word), my first kiss, and now my first time having sex.

It's actually quite tragic, really, now that I think about it.

I'm not saying that I'd want it any other way, but most people have a best friend _and _a lover. You know. A back-up plan for if one of them dies in the one of the aforementioned heartbreaking M&M eating competitions.

It's always good to have another friend to go back to once the other one conks it.

But I suck, so I've just got Mello. Best friend and boyfriend rolled into one - a terrifying jumble of resentment and frustration, leather and chocolate.

Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?

But, you know, I don't think I'd have it any other way.


	12. December

Author's Note: Well, hey. The final chapter. I'm sad to see it go, but at least it's finished. You know, I'm quite proud that I managed to get all of the months in the correct order, because, seriously, that's something I'd stuff up. I'm special like that (:

A ginormous thanks to everyone who's reviewed this fic. I honestly wouldn't have been able to write it this quickly (quickly? Okay, okay, my version of) without your support and very kind reviews (:

So, until the next time, thank you, and goodbye.

~Rainbow Fruit Loop x

* * *

><p><strong>~T<strong>h**e** W**e**i**r**d **a**n**d** W**o**n**d**e**r**f**u**l **W**o**r**l**d** o**f** a **G**u**y** N**a**m**e**d **M**a**t**t**~  
>~<strong>**_Chapter Twelve~_**

_**December 5****th**** 2006.**_

It's only a few weeks until Christmas. I'm actually very excited.

It's really cool because Wammy's isn't quite as budget on Christmas day as they are every other day. We get a full Christmas dinner, and only a little fighting ensues when we open the Christmas crackers.

We even put a Christmas tree up in the main hall - it's always really big with loads of flashing lights.

As long as they don't want me to help them put it up, then everything's fine. They made me help last time, and I ended up shattering a few decorations. Oh well. I didn't have to pay for them, so all is good in the world.

I'm hoping that - now Mello and I are in a proper relationship - he'll actually_ remember to buy me something. _

Unlike the past few years…

Also, it's Mello's birthday on the thirteenth. I don't _quite _know what to buy him. I mean, this relationship crap makes buying presents quite difficult.

Do I buy him some sappy lovey-dovey thing? Like, a teddy bear holding a heart with the words, "I Love You" etched on it? Is that what couples do? Or is that just for Valentines Day?

The other option is buying him something completely normal, like a book or chocolate or a Nintendo DS (he really needs one) or something?

ARGH. The injustice of it all.

On the plus side, we've decided on what to buy Pickles and Bruce for Christmas. What kind of rabbit wouldn't love a red collar with a bell on it?

The bells will scare away birds that land on our windowsill before they're eaten by Bruce.

**_December 10_****_th_****_ 2006._**

Today was officially the last day of school work before "the holidays". The holidays here are more fun than is expected at an orphanage. They let us go places, like the movies or theme parks and stuff.

…Hopefully not Tesco again, though. You can only break your ribs via laughing too hard a few times before it stops being fun.

It's nice to have a break from pretending to work, though.

Also, we got the results of the exams we sat a few weeks back.

Luckily, Mello got a high A in everything, so he's in a very good mood. Hopefully that means that I'll still have all of my limbs for Christmas.

He deserved it, though. He studied for God-knows-how-long, so it's good that he didn't fail. In his eyes, getting a high B is a fail. It's weird, I know.

I got As too, and I didn't even study. Heh. I'm brilliant, I know. That made Mello's good mood lessen a little, but - through the power of lots of chocolate and kissing - I managed to convince him that he was still smarter than me.

…We both know that he's not. But hopefully his violent tendencies towards me will lessen considerably.

Mutual love should do that to people.

_**December 13th 2006.**_

It's Mello's birthday today, and I woke him up by pinching his cheek and saying, "Aww, is widdle Mewwo finawwy sixteen?" in this mega kiddie voice

Mello punched me in the jaw with the strength of someone who is a lot older than I am.

Great. I've always wanted to have a really attractive bruise and/or swelling on my face just before Christmas.

He was in a good mood all day, though, and we managed to convince the cooks to make him a birthday cake. Trust me, convincing them to make food for us is easier than it sounds. Everyone does it.

He's a lot more coordinated than I am, so he actually managed to get said cake _into _our room and we were even able to _eat _it, unlike my failed attempt at eating cake on _my _birthday.

Let's not reminisce.

He was thrilled with the gifts I gave him, so I didn't need to spend so long panicking.

In the end, I decided to buy him a normal gift _and_ a lovey-dovey gift, just in case. You can never be too sure with Mello.

His normal gift was what the label on the tin says: Normal. It was a book on the history of fashion.

I am well aware that it sounds _very_ gay - well, more gay than Mello's usual -, but Mello loves history, especially when it's got something to do with clothes. It _does _mean that I'm going to have to continually assure him that what he's wearing in the twenty first century is sexier than the clothes they wore in ancient times.

A man wearing leaves and dead animals sewn together into something resembling a skirt has never really turned me on.

The sappy present I bought him was a box of expensive chocolates with stupidly romantic messages on them. I must admit, I felt a bit embarrassed telling the woman in the chocolate shop what to put on them.

But let's not go into details.

I was lucky, though, because I managed to scrape _just _enough money together to buy the presents.

It _does _mean that I'm not going to be able to buy cigarettes for quite a while.

…Hm, I think I'm already regretting spending so much money. I like my cigarettes.

Maybe Mello'll buy me some if I beg?

Wait, I've just realized that - without money - I can't buy Mello a Christmas present.

Shit. He won't like that. He'll probably shoot me.

This may be a problem.

I have no choice. I'm going to have to rob a bank.

_**December 17**__**th**__** 2006.**_

Okay, I didn't need to rob a bank. I got money through a more legal manner, so I'm not going to be arrested any time soon. I hope.

In the end, I ended up going up to Roger and asking if I could borrow some money from him. I gave him a detailed description on how I was going to use it and everything.

Bastard said no.

Luckily, though, L had another one of his visits, so I just asked him for the money. He's hardly short of cash, so he gave it to me - no questions asked. With L giving away money with such a carefree attitude, I'm starting to think that this could be a good time to start an expensive drug addiction.

Anyway. The fact that L gave me money annoyed Roger, therefore automatically putting me in a god mood.

Speaking of L, why does he keep popping up everywhere? He's like one of those really annoying Pokémon that jumps out at your pixilated character from the tall grass.

Anyway. Getting distracted again. Because I got money, I went shopping with Mels today.

We walked around and chatted for a bit (he held my hand and refused to let go, which I thought was really sweet), before splitting up.

…I wonder what he's getting me for Christmas? It had better be something expensive now that I know he's loaded.

I had the same dilemma that I had for Mello's birthday - _ooh, what to get him, what to get him? - _and ended up doing what I do best - wandering around aimlessly.

Wammy's is a bit strange (this is what encouraged my crisis), and they make you put all of your Christmas presents under the Christmas tree, so you have to open your gifts in front of everyone.

So no sappy presents, because that would be embarrassing.

As I was wandering around, I got all weirded-out because I actually _did _pass a shop called, "Leather Fetishes R Us" and that scared me.

So, after running as far as I could in the opposite direction of the slutty shop, I managed to bump into Near.

Poor Near. Now, I know I don't actually _like _Near, but I did have to feel a little bit sorry for him, because he was all alone, looking like a lost child in a crowd of adults, not like a fifteen year old in a crowd of other fifteen year olds.

No one should be alone at Christmas.

So I said to him, "Hey Near!"

He just looked at me with his annoyingly blank eyes, and said, "Hello, Matt."

"Who are you buying presents for?" I asked him politely.

I tried very hard to keep the incredulous tone out of my voice. I mean, I thought we'd all established that Near doesn't have friends. (And never will, in Mello's opinion.)

"L." Near said simply.

We were both still standing awkwardly in the middle of the crowd, so I dragged him away and sat him down at one of those really convenient chairs in the middle of the shopping centre.

"What are you buying for L?" I asked. I'd forgotten about Near's mini kiddy-crush on L. It's quite sweet, really. Well. Sweet if you ignore the fact that Near's involved.

"I don't quite know yet." Near answered me truthfully. "I want to get him more than just sweets."

At this point I felt compelled to help him, because a) it was Christmas, and b) he was being stupidly helpless.

So I (very generously, I might add) said, "Do you want to come shopping with me?"

I do have to admit that I was chanting, "Please say no, please say no." in my head while he considered my offer.

"No, thank you," he finally said. "I'd prefer to look for something on my own."

Bastard. Ignoring my goodwill.

"Okay then. Bye." I said hurriedly, and pushed my way back into the crowd.

Well. It's no wonder why he's got no friends, is it?

After I'd wandered around a bit more, I ended up buying Mello a collection of small things, like a hamper except without the naffness. It contained lots of things that Mello liked - chocolate, funny stationary (like erasers in the shape of an elephant, or rulers with donuts with faces imprinted on it), a book, more black nail polish (he's running out, apparently), random crap for his hair… you know, stuff like that.

It was cool, though, because all of the shops that I went into gift-wrapped the presents, so it's saved me both the torture of trying to wrap, and the ninja-ness of getting the gifts somewhere Mello couldn't see them.

I do love Christmas, especially now that the shopping part is over.

This entire month seems to have merely consisted of me having to make difficult choices on what to buy Mello for various occasions.

I need a life.

_**December 25th 2006.**_

Well. It's eleven thirty at night now on the evening of Christmas, and I am _shattered. _Why do I never remember how eventful Christmas is here at Wammy's?

So, I ended up getting woken up at _six o'clock in the fucking morning _by an over-excited Mello.

I swear, he's such a child sometimes. It's quite endearing, actually.

So, as unimpressed as I was at getting woken up _hours _before my brain should have been _thinking _about waking up, I exchanged many Christmas kisses with Mello before snuggling down in his bed, watching crap telly, and opening the huge box of Christmas-themed Quality Streets that Mello brought back with him from our shopping excursion.

We all had breakfast at eight in the morning, which I think is _slightly _more of a reasonable time to be moving. I was annoyed, though, because I begged the cooks to make us pizza for breakfast (it _is _Christmas, after all) but they didn't.

Still. Pancakes with cream and apricots are nice enough.

Everything was incredibly loud - and this time, I can't even blame the younger kids for making the most noise. Fuck, you should have heard Linda. I didn't think it was possible for someone to talk so loudly.

Anyway. Christmas is a time for forgiveness, so I'll (eventually) forgive her for breaking my eardrums.

It's hilarious, though, because everyone wears their pyjamas for breakfast on Christmas morning. What's the point in getting changed? Putting clothes on is such a boring chore, and everyone knows that rules don't apply on Christmas day.

Because I'm so cool, I managed to make a grumpy and slightly disgruntled Mello say, "Merry Christmas" to a stoic Near, who simply replied with, "Thank you."

Near is severely lacking in Christmas spirit. We tried to convince him to wear a Christmas-themed badge, but he refused.

Then again, his lack of festivity might have to do with the fact that no one bought him any presents (I think). Unless, of course, L remembers that the twenty fifth of December is an important date. But we all know that's not very likely.

After breakfast - which was a long and arduous task - , we were able to open our presents. About fucking time, right?

Pretty much every _single_ orphan at Wammy's crowded around the admittedly large Christmas tree, and Roger - who was wearing a terrifyingly jolly Santa hat - handed out the labelled presents.

Strangely enough, I was quite relieved to see Linda giving Near a gift. I don't know why. Maybe I'm turning soft in my old age?

Anyway - enough about the most boring person on the planet -, Mello and I were positioned in the corner of the room, which was the most private place we could find. Yes, it's sad, I know.

Wammy's doesn't really agree with privacy. What could a sixteen year old teenager _possibly _want _privacy _for?

After we went through Mello's usual faffing around with the wrapping paper (he doesn't like ripping it. I don't know why. He's usually such a violent person, and it's slightly strange to seem him _not _wanting to break something. But, then again, that's Mello for you. Completely unpredictable and just slightly strange), we managed to actually _get _into our gifts.

Mello was really happy with his "Basket of Crap" as I so amusingly named it, and spent ages going through every little thing. I was delighted with the bundle of Play Station games he bought me, and I now have enough virtual worlds to explore to stop me from rotting with boredom in the next few weeks. Yay.

Then the boring part of Christmas happened - waiting for the actual, proper _Christmas _food to come (even though it was only nine thirty in the morning) so Mello and I just hung around throwing things at Linda and mocking Ben about his buzz cut and teasing Near about his lack of emotions and stealing Roger's paedophilic hat.

Good times.

Then Roger announced that the food was served, and Mello and I forgot about the rule we had made. The rule was, "Don't walk through the mistletoe-decorated doorway together."

The mistletoe tradition is a very much enforced tradition here at Wammy's, and because Mello and I had both done our fair share of getting embarrassed people to kiss awkwardly underneath it, we knew that people we just _waiting _for us to forget our rule.

So, yes, in our eagerness to get to the mashed potatoes and roast turkey, we both ran through the doorway together.

I know. Oops. Bad move.

I was hoping that no one would notice, and that we could just sneak through, but I think Near was on mistletoe duty.

He said, "You two walked through the door together. Under the mistletoe. _Together. _You know the rule_s._"

Even in their food-induced joy, everyone turned their heads to watch us. Luckily, Roger had disappeared at this point, so we were safe from accidentally giving him a heart attack.

I have no idea why I thought that Near was an okay human for a while. He deserves to burn in Hell. Numerous times.

But what could we do? Rules are rules, and we were under the mistletoe. I was probably a faint shade of scarlet, and Mello was looking like he wanted to murder Near with the object closest to him (which, in fact turned out to be a fork).

"Let's get it over with, Mels." I whispered.

And then Mello burst out laughing for reasons I'll never know, pulled my face towards him, and kissed me long and hard in the midst of laughing people.

…The customary two-second fumble would have sufficed, but, as previously stated, Mello doesn't do anything by halves.

A few losers started cheering, and I actually felt _relieved. _Because that kiss was anything but "just friendly", so everyone knew the truth. It was all out in the open, so I don't have anything to hide now.

Yeah, so, after that, Christmas progressed as would be expected; eating too much, not being able to move for fear of exploding, 'accidentally' breaking other people's presents, getting yelled at by Roger, before, finally, we were able to retire to our rooms.

So, yes. It's now twenty past twelve at night. After an intense make out session (and maybe something more…), Mello's fallen asleep on my chest, fingers curled into by shirt, face peaceful, hair strewn across my shoulder. He's absolutely fucking gorgeous, and he's all mine.

I love him with all of my heart.

You know, I think this year's been quite nice. Mello and I have been through all of the downs, and now we've hit the ups.

And just look at me now. I've got a dumb rabbit nestled into a pile of socks on my right, another rabbit angrily chewing at the wrapper of a discarded toffee on my left, and my very own Prince Charming on my chest.

I just hope two thousand and seven will be as wonderful.

So, this is it. The end of my diary. We've had fun, haven't we? Well, I have, and, really, that's all that matters.

…

…

Oh shit. I've just realised that Roger is going to be reading all of this.

Fuck. Just… Fuck it all.

My life sucks.


End file.
